


Back for a minute (and you're gone)

by failurebydesign



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe, Fate, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 03:32:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16467863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/failurebydesign/pseuds/failurebydesign
Summary: “Where’s Beau?” Mat opens the fridge, wincing, because even that light is unbearable. He grabs the water pitcher, nearly dropping it when his sister speaks.“Who?” Liana doesn’t look up from her phone, even when her mother sets a breakfast plate in front of her.( Or Tito seems to vanish into thin air. Only Mat remembers who he is. )





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Anything you read here is strictly a work of fiction. I am in no way implying anything about the sexualities of these guys nor am I saying anything in this story has ever happened. It's all for fun, folks! If your name is in this story, I suggest not reading any further.
> 
> That being said, here we go. It's my first hockey big bang! Please note that the POV changes in the second chapter for reasons that make sense once you read it. It will switch back again in the third.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who encouraged me along the way, pushed me to finish this and over all key smashed in my google doc. Also, thank you to glazedsun for all of the tedious editing.
> 
> And a special thanks to timkon for providing me with a lovely mix which you can find [here.](https://open.spotify.com/user/pevensies/playlist/5EigSpJxRPcvLRevSQNl3U)

**Chapter 1**

Mat is twenty. He looks at the clock, just hours away from a birthday he isn’t quite sure he’s ready to celebrate.

He’s lucky, he knows.

The world is his to conquer. 

It’s just—

World-conquering is much more satisfying with Tito on his physical, and perhaps metaphorical, wing. It’s nothing Mat cares to admit. He’s too proud to tell anyone that he’s downright _lost_ without Tito’s near-constant chirping in his ear. A Calder Trophy candidate is supposed to be self-sufficient and easily-adaptable, he thinks. 

Mat is also realistic.

It isn’t like he actually expected Tito to fly all of the way to British Columbia from Ibiza or Barcelona or wherever just to celebrate his teammate’s birthday.

If given the chance, Mat would probably choose an exotic beach over his birthday, too. He quickly pushes that thought into a darker corner of his mind— it’s not like he was invited anyway.

He’s seen the photos— Tito seems to be having fun and, to Mat, he supposes that’s the important part. He doesn’t like any of them, though, that petty part of not even being considered lingering— keeping him from letting Tito know that he’s looked at them— more than once, at that.

There’s a constant string of _going out tonight?_ texts that keep him otherwise occupied, away from instagram and the photos he’s pretending to not have seen.

It’s better that way, he thinks.

There’s a slight, selfish thought that passes— that it’ll hurt less when Tito’s basking in the sun more than likely forgetting Mat’s birthday.

He’s lucky, he’s reminded, when his friends continue to blow up his phone, continuing to text him until they’re at his door, dragging him out for a night on the town. Mat would be lying if he said it wasn’t both a welcoming distraction and a relief bundled into a nice, little pre-birthday gift. Dinner is nice, too— the wine, even better.

By eleven, Mat’s received both a hug and a drink from all of his friends in attendance, which, he thinks, is probably around twenty. He didn’t drink _every_ drink— many were shared, forgotten and one accidentally made its way onto the floor. 

Twenty-one doesn’t mean much to Mat— not when he’s Canadian, _in_ Canada, but his friends all seem determined to show him otherwise. He only thinks about Tito once, when his phone buzzes and he knows that technically it’s his birthday in Barcelona. 

It isn’t Tito. He’s not even sure _who_ it is, to be honest. Just some nameless number, wishing him well.

By eleven-thirty, Mat’s definitely drunk.

He stops his moping when one of his friends suggests they do a round of shots and a countdown of some sorts— like Mat’s birthday is on the same wavelength of New Years Eve or something that’s important enough to be counted down to.

It’s a slight ego boost, if he’s being honest, even if they get it all wrong, finish counting and it’s still just 11:59. Mat laughs, tips back his shot anyway and then his phone buzzes. Setting down the empty glass, Mat wipes his mouth with the back of one hand, typing in his passcode with the other.

Tito : **Today 12:00 am**

**__** _happy birthday barzy!! turn around!!!_

A few other people cheer— Mat doesn’t know who— doesn’t care much to find out, either. Not when Tito’s in another country and telling him to turn around. Naturally, despite feeling a bit like an idiot, he does.

There’s some more cheering and Mat has to catch himself from shouting back in surprise at the recognizable figure standing a whole two feet away from him.

Tito.

“What the fuck?” Mat laughs, quickly takes a few long, strides and then he’s throwing his arms around Tito— Tito doing the same, pulling one another forward until they’re pressed together, laughing.

“Surprise?”

“I thought— I mean— Barcelona?” Mat stutters. His first instinct is to smack Tito in the arm, because _what the actual fuck_. 

“Airplanes are pretty cool, huh, Barzy?”

Mat shakes his head, his laugh transitioning into a wide smile. He curls his fingers around the bottom of Tito’s shirt, head tilted when he speaks with confidence. “Missed me that much, huh?”

“Heard you missed me,” Tito hums.

Nose wrinkling, Mat laughs, softly. He _did_ miss Tito, not that he’ll outwardly admit just how much. He’ll figure out and deal with whoever told Tito that one later on. Tito’s smile is like another shot of tequila that he didn’t need, making him dizzy when he takes it all in. He’s reluctant to let go of Tito, wanting more, even when he knows it’ll just cause him to stumble.

Mat knows it’s unlikely, but there’s a thought in the darkest corner of his mind that tells him letting go of Tito isn’t something he should consider— like doing so would be disastrous, causing him to disappear in a puff of smoke.

So Mat holds on— tight.

“Did you?” Tito asks, moments later.

“Did I what?” Mat looks at Tito through half-opened eyes.

“Miss me.”

“Oh,” Mat says below a whisper. “Who told?”

Tito, smiling, shrugs. “That’s a secret.”

Mat snorts, leaning in closer. He doesn’t care how it looks— if someone knew how mopey he was over Tito, well, none of this should be surprising anyway. “Tell me.” 

“Like, all of them?” Tito motions to Mat’s group of friends, most who are far too busy with another round of shots to pay much attention. “You’ve got some really great friends.”

“Yeah,” Mat admits, taking that moment to be brave. “But you’re the best.”

..

Mat’s twenty-one. He wakes up, hungover, and doesn’t feel any older.

Just _knows_ he is.

His birthday— loud and messy, is something he knows he’ll never forget.

He doesn’t remember getting home, only faintly able to recall the end of the night— crawling into the warmth of his bed with Tito close behind.

Mat remembers Tito’s lips, kisses soft, gentle and all for him. He remembers fitting against Tito’s chest, fingers in his hair and that comforting, peaceful silence that follows while he’s in Tito’s presence.

He remembers, just before sleep, feeling like everything is finally falling back into place with Tito where he belongs— tucked in tightly under his wing.

 _I could get used to this_ , he thinks, eyes struggling to open against the weight of his heavy eyelids.

There isn’t much sunlight seeping in. Even the smallest sliver of the sun’s rays is still enough to make his head pound, eyes squinting when he turns over in bed.

Tito isn’t there, but it’s nothing outwardly concerning. There’s only so many places in Coquitlam that Tito could disappear to.

Mat can already hear his family downstairs in the kitchen, ready to start their own days. If Mat knows Tito as well as he thinks, he’s more than likely standing in front of the stove, helping Mat’s mother cook up some scrambled eggs.

He pulls himself up out of bed with a groan. Eggs, he thinks, sound terrible.

Grabbing the first somewhat clean t-shirt and pair of sweatpants he can find, Mat gets dressed and makes his way down the stairs in search of Tito and some much-needed tylenol.

His mother— as expected— is cooking. Tito isn’t.

“Where’s Beau?” Mat opens the fridge, wincing, because even that light is unbearable. He grabs the water pitcher, nearly dropping it when his sister speaks.

“Who?” Liana doesn’t look up from her phone, even when her mother sets a breakfast plate in front of her.

He rolls his eyes, far too hungover to deal with his sister’s smartass commentary. “ _Mom_.”

“You brought somebody home last night?” His mother raises one eyebrow, not quite finished scooping eggs on to the second plate of food she already began filling. 

“Just Anthony,” Mat says, fighting the urge to roll his eyes a second time. What he really wants to say is that he’s twenty-one now and he’ll bring a boy home if he damn well pleases. When his father walks in, it’s something Mat quickly re-thinks.

“You didn’t tell us you had a new boyfriend,” his mother says.

“My _teammate_ , Mom,” Mat stresses, wondering if he’s still drunk from the night before. He doesn’t bother grabbing any breakfast, just downs the glass of water, popping two tylenol. Tito’s probably looking for him, anyway.

The thing is, Tito isn’t anywhere to be seen.

Tito _isn’t_ looking for him.

With a heavy sigh and lengthy search of the house, Mat heads back to his room. It’s still empty, no sign of Tito left behind.

..

The first thing Mat does, and fails, is try to text Tito.

All conversations, his phone number, _everything_ is gone. He checks instagram, twitter, even facebook only to find those, too, have vanished. It’s as if Tito just… ceased to exist.

He quickly types in Tito’s number anyway, having memorized it.

When his phone buzzes moments later, Mat’s heart drops.

_We’re sorry. You have reached a number that is disconnected or that is no longer in service._

“C’mon man,” Mat says, frustrated— _scared_ , if he’s honest. It isn’t like Tito to leave without notice, to delete his number and just— as Mat feared— disappear.

So Mat, being Mat, does what he does best. 

He pockets his phone, takes a deep breath and drives straight to Dante Fabbro’s house. He pounds on the door, doesn’t stop until Dante opens and then lets himself in without explanation. Mat’s hands are full on shaking by the time Dante shuts the door behind them.

“Uh, Happy Birthday, nice to see you, too,” Dante says, eyes following Mat as he paces in the living room. “Isn’t it a little early for a mid-life crisis?”

Mat speaks just above a whisper when he finally forces the words out. “Tito’s gone.”

“What?” Dante’s eyes widen.

“Tito,” Mat repeats, voice a little louder— panicked. “He’s fucking gone, man.”

“Wait.” Dante’s slow and careful when he walks towards Mat. “Who—”

“Dante, I swear,” Mat begins, holding his hand out to halt him. “Tito— _Anthony_ , my teammate. Don’t you give me this shit, too. He came to visit last night and now he’s gone.”

“Okay, first,” Dante says, taking a long, drawn out breath. “I think you should sit down.”

Mat’s mind goes right to the worst case scenario, but sits anyway. Dante is a good friend— always has been. If anyone is going to be honest with him, it’s Dante.

Dante brings Mat a bottle of water and it’s then Mat realizes that he must think he’s still drunk from the night before. The night where he was out, with some friends and _Tito_.

“Since when is there someone on your team named Anthony?” Dante takes a seat and braces himself.

“I’m twenty-one, not ninety-one.” Mat laughs, unable to believe what’s happening. “Why is everyone fucking with me?” 

“Dude, I’m not fucking with you,” Dante says, flipping his phone around so that Mat can see the screen. “Check your team roster. There’s literally no one on your team with that name.”

Mat’s reluctant to grab the phone. It’s easy to edit websites and things like that. He takes it anyway, thumbing through the names and numbers. They’re all names he recognizes, but Tito’s— _Anthony’s_ name, is suspiciously absent from the list.

Mat just about drops Dante’s phone. “No…” 

“No?” Dante takes his phone back, lips pursed. “I swear, you’ve never mentioned—”

“Stop.” Mat clenches his fists, feeling the fire building within him. He knows it isn’t Dante’s fault. Dante isn’t the only one who’s lost all recollection of Tito— His friends, his family, the _world_ —

“Did you hit your head? Is everything— are _you_ okay?” Dante takes a step back, looking at Mat as if he’s some sort of science experiment.

“You don’t understand.” Mat has distinct memories of helping Tito, broken arm and all, dress when they’re younger. There’s memories of Tito on draft day, his mother taking a photo of the two of them in matching Islanders jerseys— memories of Tito straightening his bowtie on Casino night and later pulling it off and tossing it aside before kissing him in the kitchen of his apartment. 

Tito _is_ real.

Mat _knows_.

“I—” Dante begins, sighing. “Okay so, hypothetically, he’s real.”

“He _is_ ,” Mat emphasizes. “I know I say a lot of dumb shut just— trust me on this one, _please_.”

It’s reluctant, but Dante nods. “Okay. He’s real. But—”

“You really don’t remember him?” 

Dante’s silence tells Mat that he’s telling the truth. He really, truly _doesn’t_ remember Tito.

“Do you have a picture? Anything?” Dante’s eyes are full of enough concern to tell Mat that even if he’s worried about Mat’s sanity, he’s trying.

Mat’s photo gallery isn’t wiped clean— there’s photos of him in Denmark, smiling over a team dinner, some of him and his friends at a basketball game at Barclays. It’s his favorites— the ones of him and Tito exchanging glances in Banff or being complete idiots in yet another hotel room that are erased from existence. Even his icloud is suspiciously lacking any and all traces of Tito. 

“No,” Mat says, defeated. 

“Okay, well. Don’t give up.” Dante gives Mat a genuine pat on the shoulder. “We’ll find your boy.”

Mat nods, sadly, wishing circumstances were different— that the first time Tito had ever been referred to as _his_ boy wasn’t on the same day he disappeared.

..

Dante helps, or _tries_ anyway.

The thing is, it’s hard for Mat to enlist anyone’s help when he’s the only one with a clear image of Tito still fresh in his mind.

Mat starts by asking all of his friends to send over every picture taken the night of his birthday celebration. Not just the ones he might be in— all of them.

He searches each one, zooms in and out repeatedly and as expected, Tito’s not in a single photo. Even the group photo Mat knows Tito posed for is strangely lacking his signature smile.

Mat spends a lot of time on the internet, searching without any luck. It isn’t like Beauvillier is a _common_ last name it’s just— even if he _did_ find Tito’s family, what would he do with that information?

Still, there’s plenty of people with the last name Beauvillier in Quebec. None of them, he’s sure, who will believe his story— especially if he shows up at their front door, unannounced. 

It’s a risky move, but after two days of little sleep and his searches all coming up blank, Mat does the only thing that seems right, booking the first flight he can find that will take him straight to Montreal.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come too?” Dante asks, shifting his car into park.

“What if I don’t find him?” Mat glances out the window, watching a family walk through the lot with their luggage. They’re smiling, anxious for what he imagines is a vacation. _If only_ , he thinks.

“What if you do?”

Mat pauses to think. “Then I’ll bring him back with me.”

“And if he doesn’t want to be found?” Dante looks to Mat, eyebrows raised.

“Then I’ll just keep looking.”

Dante sighs and Mat knows just how crazy it sounds— to blindly chase after someone who, to everyone else, is a figment of Mat’s imagination.

“Look,” Dante says, popping the trunk and getting out of the car, Mat following after. “I hope you don’t come back without him, but—”

“I’m coming back with him.” Mat grabs the handle of his suitcase, giving it one hard yank.

They stand there in silence, Mat too unsure to say much more. Determination is one thing, confidence— well, that’s something Mat’s working on. He doesn’t admit the immense amount of self-doubt that comes over him when they walk through the double doors and stop in front of ticketing area.

Dante senses something, pulling Mat into a tight hug and again, Mat feels lucky to have such a supportive friend. When they separate, Dante playfully bumps his shoulder with his fist. “Good luck, bro. You’ve got this.”

When Mat boards his flight, he’s not so sure he does.

..

Montreal’s airport is busy. Mat’s used to traveling— used to the noise and crowds that come along with being a professional athlete. He’s been to Montreal enough times that he, in theory, should be used to that, too.

Then he grabs his bags, steps outside and realizes just how lost he is. Past Montreal trips came with a free tour guide in the form of his way-too-happy-to-be-there best friend.

It’s warm and sunny— a grand contrast to Mat’s current state. His mind does something cruel, comparing the soft, comforting sunlight to Tito’s smile— one he isn’t sure he’ll ever see again. By the time Mat reaches his hotel, he’s tired of the sun. Mat drops his suitcase by the door, pulls the curtains shut and wonders if he’s made a big mistake.

After a shower and a bit of pep talk in front of the bathroom mirror— the sun sitting a little lower in the sky— Mat feels ready to begin his search.

He’s only halfway down the street when it hits him just how much bigger Montreal is when you don’t know where to begin. Mat wanders, he finds a place to eat dinner, he tries his best to converse with the locals in French and he doesn’t find Tito.

Mat doesn’t sleep once he’s back at the hotel. He turns on the local news, wracks his brain and pulls up about six tabs on his laptop— none of which give him any clarity. Going over his search results again and again prove to be pointless. If Tito _does_ exist, there’s no proof.

Day in and day out, Mat keeps on his feet, exploring new corners— working off of memory when he stops at all of Tito’s favorite places, slowly heading up towards Quebec. When he reaches a smaller city, Mat, exhausted, is ready to give up.

Dante’s call comes through when Mat needs it the most.

“Hey, you find anything yet?” Dante says.

“Nothing.” Mat sighs, rounding a corner in search of some coffee. “I’m going up to Quebec— there’s like, a few more places I remember him talking about. Then I’m coming back.”

“How long?” Dante asks.

“Dunno.” He shrugs, knowing all too well that Dante can’t actually see him. “Two, three more days.”

“Oh,” is all Dante says in return.

“You think I’m crazy, don’t you?” Mat’s stride slows when he finds a coffee shop that looks promising. The chalkboard sign out front boasts some pretty impressive espresso— exactly what he needs.

“Bro, I thought you were crazy _before_ all of this,” Dante says with a laugh. “But uh, you know. It _is_ a little weird. People don’t just disappear.”

“If this is your way of trying to hype me up, you’re doing a terrible job.”

“I know, I know, sorry,” Dante apologizes quickly. “I just don’t want to see you get your hopes up.”

Mat thinks about his hopes.

He _hopes_ to prove everyone wrong. 

He _hopes_ to find Tito.

His hopes are something he clings onto. There’s something keeping him there, telling him he can’t leave just yet— that yeah, finding Tito could be compared to finding a needle in a haystack, but his feet keep him planted, his will refusing to let him give up.

“Two days,” Mat repeats, setting himself a deadline that he isn’t sure he can make.

“Good luck,” Dante says and though Mat knows he means it, he’s growing tired of hearing it.

Luck wouldn’t have taken Tito away to begin with.

They disconnect their call and Mat walks into the coffee house, straight up to the counter on a mission. He’s tired of searching, tired of obsessing over details that make little sense— tired of trying to convince people who won’t listen and tired of not sleeping. 

Four shots of espresso later, Mat feels somewhat able to face his day and he doesn’t even really _drink_ coffee. He’s reminded of this minor detail when he’s ordering his second cup to go, legs moving quicker than the rest of him.

He’s already halfway through the door when he walks smack into someone— a barista— who’s on his way in for his shift. Mat fumbles, thinking he has a good grip on his coffee, but the top pops off, coffee spilling all down the front of the barista.

“Shit, sorry,” Mat says quickly, going to grab some napkins. “Here let me—,” he begins voice cutting out short when he takes a good look at the poor soul he spilled hot coffee all over.

The barista furrows his brows when they go face to face and Mat’s heart stops.

Tito.

“It’s fine,” Tito says, taking the napkins from Mat and beginning to dab at the front of his pants. “Uh, hey, I appreciate your help, but I think I should probably take care of this one myself.”

Mat clears his throat, hands shaking once he has nothing left to hold onto. _Tito_ , his mind repeats over and over, but what comes out is, “Anthony.”

Tito stops what he’s doing to lift his head, smiling, despite being covered in coffee. “Yeah, that’s what my name tag says.”

“What are you doing here?” 

Tito laughs. “I work here?”

It’s then, when Tito looks at him, more confused than ever, that Mat realizes—

Tito has no idea who he is.

..

Mat doesn’t leave the coffee shop with Tito because he doesn’t know how to tell him that he doesn’t belong there— that Tito’s supposed to be playing hockey— supposed to be with _him_.

So Mat goes back the next day, orders himself what has become his usual and waits.

Tito isn’t there.

It sets off a minor panic within and Mat, briefly, wonders if he lost this Tito _too_. Or maybe things were set right and Tito is back in Coquitlam, looking for him too.

“Hey,” he hears— a familiar voice that could only be Tito’s.

Tito, apron and all, still works at the coffee house. He isn’t talking to Mat. He walks past him, quickly, barely acknowledging him. Tito reaches the counter, slips around the side and sighs.

“Sorry I’m late,” Tito says to his fellow coworker. “My car died and I had to take my bike.”

“This really isn’t your week, is it?” The girl, thin, with a long, blonde ponytail, laughs, hand resting over Tito’s arm.

It isn’t like he _said_ anything funny, Mat thinks, and it’s then he realizes he’s jealous. It doesn’t matter, at least it shouldn’t— Mat doesn’t even know if Tito’s _into_ guys, his Tito or otherwise. He finishes his coffee in silence, wincing every time there’s a lull in customers.

He doesn’t mean to stay for most of the morning, too caught up in watching Tito— too worried that if he looks away, he’ll disappear again. Mat can almost hear Dante laughing, pushing him towards to counter, but Mat stays, glued to his seat.

Mat doesn’t know what to say, either. Not to Tito, who seems far too occupied blending drinks and exchanging glances with his touchy-feely coworker. 

Watching Tito flirt with a woman isn’t exactly new, just that Mat doesn’t remember the last time it’s happened. Their season went on, the two of them growing closer and somehow, along the way, all of that seemed to just… stop.

All Mat remembers now is what he had just months ago— hockey and Tito’s undivided attention.

Now, he’s stuck watching Tito— who doesn't even know him— give all of his attention to someone else. Someone who he’s never seen in his entire life. Someone who, when Tito moves in closer to her, he never wants to see again.

“Hey.” Mat says, standing up suddenly. He tries not to act surprised when he takes a step forward and Tito startles.

“Oh,” Tito says, looking a bit surprised to see him. “Sorry, I thought— I didn’t know someone was still—”

Mat shakes his head, approaching the counter. He doesn’t _want_ another coffee, but doesn’t _want_ to see Tito flirting anymore, either. “Can I get another?”

Tito nods, instantly busying himself.

“You didn’t even ask what I wanted.” Mat leans against the counter, watching Tito prepare something that he’s pretty sure he’s never ordered in his life.

When he turns around, handing Mat a drink that is definitely not his usual, their hands brush during the exchange. It’s stupid, Mat thinks, and yet, he lingers, smiling at the M-A-T scrawled across the cup. “How much?”

“On the house,” Tito says with the smile that feels all too familiar to Mat.

The female barista huffs and Mat can’t help but grin. “Can you do that?”

“I just did.” Tito shrugs.

When Tito’s coworker rolls her eyes and disappears into the back, Mat feels victorious. He takes a sip of his drink— sweeter than he’d pick for himself, but smiles anyway. It’s nothing like the first time he _really_ met Tito, when he walked up to the loud, French kid and surprised him, sitting next to him with a confident _bon matin_. 

Since then, Mat’s learned a bit more, both in language and of Tito— only one of which is helpful in his current situation. He feels out of place, flirting with the boy he’s known for seven years— the same one who, if asked, would say he’s not quite sure who Mat Barzal is.

Still, Mat can’t turn away. Not when he found him.

“What time do you get out of here?” Mat says, because if he’s going to shoot his shot, he might as well do it while they’re mostly alone.

Tito glances at his watch. “About twenty minutes, why?”

“I thought we could talk— if that’s okay?” Mat bites his lip.

Tito furrows his brows— something Mat has to get used to. Tito _doesn’t_ know him.

“Tito, _please_ —”

Tito’s eyes get wider at the nickname but then a group of college kids come in, jolting him to attention. He stands up straight, a bit flushed and preparing to get to work again. He fumbles a bit with the stacked cups by the register and clears his throat with a quiet, telling, “twenty minutes.”

..

“How did you know?” When Tito walks over, his apron is swung over his shoulder, hair a bit messy from the hat he’s since removed.

Mat takes a moment to _really_ look at Tito, wondering if it’s his last time.

“Wait,” Tito says before Mat can answer. “I feel like this is going to get really weird. Can we go somewhere else?”

Mat looks around. The coffee shop isn’t noisy, but it’s crowded enough that, okay, Tito’s right, they should probably take it outside. Nodding, Mat gets up from the corner he’s made his for most of the day.

His eye catches the large, floral mural he’s sat under for hours. The vines spread out at the edges, reaching out as if they’re looking to embrace him. It isn’t worrisome like some vines tend to be. These are bright, friendly and comforting. They point him towards the door, waving him out as if silently telling him it’ll be okay.

They’re no more than three steps out the front door when Tito turns to him. 

“How do you know me?”

“How did you _forget_ me?” It isn’t what Mat intends on asking. He just… does.

Tito narrows his eyes, as if sizing Mat up. When his face relaxes, looking more stumped than anything, Mat knows any recognition is a lost cause.

“This is going to sound crazy but—”

Tito holds his hand up, stopping Mat mid-sentence. “How crazy? Like old childhood friends crazy or you knew me in a past life crazy?”

Mat takes a moment to think about it because, “Both kind of?”

“Both?” Tito repeats. “How?”

“We played hockey together,” Mat says, continuing even after Tito drops his hand, looking all the more confused. “Not just as kids. In Europe, in Canada, all over the US—”

“I’ve never even played hockey.” Tito begins to walk, but it’s slow enough, allowing Mat to keep up. “Are you sure I— and how do you know my nickname?”

“I told you.” Mat moves, reaching out for Tito’s arm, but lets it drop at his side, thinking better than to actually do so. “We were drafted together. We _roomed_ together on the road.”

“That’s not—” 

“It makes no sense, I know,” Mat says, trying to think of something, _anything_ to convince Tito that they’re connected somehow— _somewhere_.

They walk together in silence, rounding a corner. Mat checks his phone— there’s still no photographic proof that he knows Tito. All he has is his word and even those are a jumbled mess inside of his head— words that he can’t quite form.

When they reach a park, Tito takes them across the grass, to a round table beneath the shade where he sits, Mat following.

“Okay so say hypothetically I believe you,” Tito says, leaning against his elbows. “What do you want? Because I don’t have any money. You saw where I work.”

“No, nothing like that.” Mat laughs, because he doesn’t want to tell Tito that money is the last thing he needs. He shakes his head, running a finger over a groove— some letters that were carved in the tabletop. 

“Then what?”

“I want my best friend back,” Mat says, the realization hitting him _hard_.

“We could be friends.” Tito smiles. “You know where I work, come visit anytime.” “I can’t.” Mat knows he’s risking scaring Tito away. There’s a good chance he could lose Tito all over again just by saying something downright crazy sounding. The thing is, Mat _isn’t_ crazy. He knows Tito and even if he doesn’t _know_ this one, knows Tito belongs back in New York and at his wing.

“You can’t?” Tito raises an eyebrow.

“I live in Coquitlam, man.” Mat’s laugh is nervous when he forces out the next part. “I— _we_ live together in New York. At least we were going to next season. We started looking at apartments.”

“New York City?” Tito’s smile breaks into a loud laugh. “Now, that I don’t believe.”

“Yeah,” Mat says, rolling his eyes and unlocking his phone. “No one does.”

“Do you have photos of us?” Tito watches, eyes focused on Mat’s phone.

Mat shakes his head. He’s only able to produce photos of himself, which don’t help. He opens the roster again, scrolling through, past the spot where Tito should be. Mat shows Tito as much as he can— photos of the team, a video of Ebs downright dragging Mat— little things that, in theory, should jog Tito’s memory.

They, unfortunately, don’t.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you,” Tito says on their walk back towards the coffee shop. 

“But you don’t.”

“Hey.” Tito’s voice is soft, reassuring. “You seem really fun, if that helps.”

Mat looks down at his feet as they walk. _You seem fun_ sounds like something you hear after a date gone wrong. It’s way too _you’re really nice, but_ …

“Did I love you?” Tito asks when they coffee shop comes back into view. It’s out of left field— as casual as ever. He doesn’t know those words take the air from Mat’s lungs, making his heart skip a beat.

“I don’t know,” Mat finally says, softly, once he’s able to fill his lungs with air again.

“You loved me,” Tito decides, a small, sad smile forming at the corners of his mouth.

It’s the second time Mat forgets how to breathe.

“I— what? How could you tell?” _Fuck_ , Mat thinks, because it’s a terrible time for all of his feelings to finally come to a head.

“You’re here, aren’t you?” Tito’s smile is kind and gentle, everything that Mat’s grown accustomed to, everything he loves— or _loved_ , he guesses— knowing this isn’t his for the taking anymore.

“Yeah, I guess I am.” Mat lifts his head, catching how Tito’s trying hard to be supportive yet sad for him all at once. It isn’t like he expects this version if TIto to drop everything and follow him from here on out. It’s nice to hear his caring voice, even nicer to see him, but, when Tito rests a hand at his lower back, Mat knows something’s still missing.

“It’ll be okay,” Tito says, obvious he’s at a loss for words of his own.

Mat isn’t quite sure he believes that.

Something tugs at Mat’s heart when they stop in front of the coffee house— something raw and emotional mixed together with pain and uncertainty. He doesn't know how he’s going to leave without Tito even when that’s the only option he’s left with.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” Tito rocks on the balls of his feet, his smile becoming somewhat shy. It’s not the smile Mat remembers, yet it’s one he has a hard time saying no to.

“Sure.” Mat smiles back, feeling giddy— knowing it’s stupid to continue on like this. He has a life back in Coquitlam— back in New York City that he can’t neglect with or without Tito.

Then Tito pulls him into a hug that’s comforting. It’s one he knows he won’t forget.

“I start at eight,” Tito says when they break apart. “See you then.”

And Mat, stupidly, agrees.

..

Mat doesn’t show up right at eight. He’s up late the night before, texting Dante every single detail he can remember. When he wakes up, it’s closer to nine and he has to rush to shower and get down to the coffee shop before noon.

When he walks in, Tito’s back is to the door, busy preparing drinks for the group of customers waiting by the pick up counter. He turns around, small smile growing larger when he spots Mat.

“Hey,” Tito says, handing the drinks to the customers and nodding in Mat’s direction. “It’s my favorite regular.”

Mat laughs, shaking his head. “I’ve been here like, a handful of times. How am I a regular?”

“You’ve been here every day since you spilled your drink on me,” Tito says, grabbing two cups this time. “And I know it’s not because you feel bad about it.”

“I apologized!” 

Mat watches as Tito pours two coffees, one mostly black with a bit of skim milk, the other, full of cream and sugar. Tito hands the first drink over to Mat with a smile. 

“Anyway, your timing is great because I was just about to take my break.” Tito walks around the counter, clutching his own drink. “I only have a half hour, but we can hang out in the corner and you can tell me about your day.”

“I woke up and I came here,” Mat says before they take more than five steps.

“Well now what are we supposed to talk about?” Tito pulls off his apron and slumps down in one chair, back to the wall.

“I have to go home, you know.” Mat sets his coffee down after he sits, watching as the steam curls up from the lip of the lid. 

“I know.” Tito looks down at his drink and blows lightly into the small opening. “Which, it’s kind of dumb.”

“I mean, I’m a hockey player,” Mat says, then sighs. “You are— _were_ , too.”

“It’s summer.” 

Mat knows that Tito, a non hockey player, can’t possibly understand that training doesn’t end when the season does. He looks at his coffee, can no longer count how many different drinks he’s had on one hand and knows this needs to end soon.

“I have an award show to go to, and like—” Mat turns his hands over on the table, fidgeting. “I’m up for this award, so I really have to go.”

“I know,” Tito says, taking a careful sip from his cup.

“You know?” Mat watches Tito’s face closely.

“I googled you. You’re kind of impressive.”

Mat grins in response. “Kind of?”

“I bet we had a lot of fun together, huh?” Tito’s smile fades. “Was I any good?”

“We played on a line together and you scored 21 goals this year. Then we went to Denmark and played in a championship.” Mat tests his own drink— it’s, at least, drinkable now.

Tito’s eyes brighten, like he’s been handed a gift. “Did we win?”

“No.”

“Oh,” Tito says, focusing on his coffee again.

Mat almost feels guilty for taking the light from his eyes. 

“For the record, I think you’ll win that award.” Tito half-smiles, swirling his cup in a small circle. 

Mat just shrugs. Because winning the Calder Trophy would be amazing and a great honor, but is it really his to win if all of those points— all of that hard work— wasn’t something he accomplished at the aid of his best friend? 

Tito reaches out, places his hand over Mat’s and in an instant, Mat’s body warms, fingers tingling beneath the soft touch.

“Hey,” Tito says, voice soft and reassuring, thumb rubbing electric circles over the back of Mat’s hand. “When are you going home?”

Mat shrugs. “Tomorrow, I guess.”

“Oh.” Tito’s quick in pulling his hand away. “That’s— I mean— already?”

“What,” Mat says with a laugh. “You want me to stay?”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Tito asks, chewing on his bottom lip.

“Tell you what?” Mat likes to think he’s been pretty honest since the beginning, though it’s not exactly easy to tell a stranger you’ve known him in what appears to be another universe.

“That you loved me.”

Mat just about knocks his coffee cup over in the process, because he loves, or maybe _loved_ Tito when he had him, lost him and now…

“I mean,” Mat clears his throat, not able to look Tito in the eye. “I guess I never thought I needed to.” He knows Tito doesn’t have the same memories he does, thinking of shared smiles across the locker room and secret kisses behind the safety of closed doors. 

“I think I probably loved you too,” Tito says.

It’s a bit offhand, but it hits Mat like an ice cold wave that breaks over him.

In any other circumstance, Mat knows they’d already be kissing.

“Thank you.” Mat gives a weak smile, feeling the tug at his heart the words left behind. _Loved_ , he thinks. Past tense.

Tito nods. “You just look so sad and, well I don’t think he would want you sad. I know _I_ don’t like seeing you sad. It’s awful.”

“It was pretty hard to be sad around you, man,” Mat says with a fond laugh. “You always did this thing where you would write on your hockey tape—”

“ _Have fun_.”

That time, Mat _does_ drop his drink. It hits the table, topples over and forms a small puddle at the table’s center. Both, caught up in something more, ignore it.

“Wait, what? How—”

Mat doesn’t continue, because Tito’s words knock the wind right out of him. It’s the right answer, and yet Tito, perplexed, furrows his brows.

“I, um.” Tito stands up suddenly, looking distressed as he reaches for some napkins. “I have to get back to work. You should— I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

Tito cleans up the mess, spilling the rest of his drink and making a bigger mess in the process. He’s more panicked than Mat can understand, when Mat’s the one who should be overwhelmed by everything Tito’s just thrown at him.

“Let me help,” Mat says, grabbing a handful of napkins to wipe up some of the puddle.

“No, just—” Tito grabs the napkins from Mat, frantic in his cleaning. “You can’t _be_ _here_. Just go home, Mat.”

“Anthony.” Mat wants to grab him by the arm, to force him to look at him, but Tito tears his eyes— _himself_ away before Mat has the chance.

“Go _home_ ,” Tito repeats in a tone that’s the most stern Mat’s ever heard.

Mat doesn’t answer— doesn’t try to reason.

He gives Tito one last look— wishing he had a better memory of Tito to store as his last one— and walks out the door.

..

Morning comes, then goes— Mat doesn’t notice. He stays tucked beneath a scratchy bed sheet in the dark safety of the hotel room that’s become his home for the past few days.

By noon, Mat stirs, but can’t bring himself to move let alone care about the outside world that’s bustling along the busy streets below. He’s a full week behind on training and feels guilty neglecting his priorities for the sake of attempting to retain something he’s lost.

Dante texts him, or so that’s who Mat assumes it is, when his phone buzzes against the table next to him.

 _flying back tomorrow morning_ , Mat replies, fingers hovering over the letters when he sees Dante is typing— knowing what he’s about to say. _without him_ , Mat adds and the dots disappear.

He takes forces himself out of bed for the sake of doing something— anything other than wallowing in self pity amongst a world he can not change.

 _Stop being so fucking angsty_ , Mat tells himself after a long shower, hand running through wet hair that he knows he’ll be cutting soon.

Of course it’s all easier said than done.

Mat grows to hate where he is, despising all that is Saint-Hyacinthe. It isn’t the fault of the city itself, though hating it— telling himself how much it all sucks and that soon he’ll never have to go back— helps.

Sort of.

He gets lunch at some small restaurant that he can only refer to as stupidly endearing. It’s the kind of place you bring a first date to and Mat’s mind immediately wonders if Tito would have ever considered bringing him here. Not that it matters now.

The rest of his afternoon is spent walking through the very same park where he and Tito sat to talk, a frequent memory quickly becoming one that fades into darkness. It’s not that he doesn’t want to remember Tito— he _does_ , just not the version that he knows the universe traded his in for.

Mat discovers how to take the longer, winding way back to his hotel, avoiding passing by the coffee shop that he knows Tito works at. He reaches his hotel in time to pick up a FaceTime conversation with his sister, who looks more worried than Dante did when he left.

“When are you coming back?” Liana presses her mouth closed, lips forming a line.

Mat rolls his eyes, though fondly, because she’s still his little sister after all. “Tomorrow.”

“Good,” Liana says, the background changing behind her as she goes from indoors to out. “Because my graduation is coming up and I really want you to be there.”

“I’ll be there.” Mat technically could buy himself a few more weeks, not that he’s telling her so. 

Liana sighs when the phone shifts again and Mat can tell she’s sitting under a tree in the backyard. “Mom’s worried. She thinks you’ve been so hard on yourself that you’re making up—”

“I’m _not_ ,” Mat interrupts. He’s too worn down and defeated to have this conversation again. “I know you don’t believe me, but he’s here.”

“I believe you,” Liana says, frowning when Mat does. “But does he?”

“No.” Mat’s laugh is short, bitter. “He told me to fucking leave.”

“So you’re leaving?”

“Mhm.” Mat nods.

Liana gasps in surprise, eyes narrowing. “No you aren’t.”

“My flight’s in the morning, so yeah, I kind of am.” Mat snorts, despite there being nothing funny whatsoever about the last week of his life.

“Please, you think I don’t know my own brother?” Liana tips her head, smiling.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mat paces the sidewalk when he could so easily go up to his room. Something keeps him from shutting himself out from the world this time. Maybe, he thinks, leaning against the side of the building, his sister’s on to something.

“You’re just like dad, stubborn as hell,” Liana says with a soft smile. “I know you don’t just give up when someone tells you no. That’s not the Barzal way.”

And _fuck_ , Mat thinks. She’s right.

“So.” The background from behind Liana shifts and she’s on the move again.

“So?” Mat repeats.

“He means a lot to you. Don’t give up.”

Mat drums his fingertips against the rough brick wall behind him. “I’m not— why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Please, you want me to believe you flew to Montreal with zero direction just to find a friend who you weren’t even sure would be there?” Liana’s smile remains when the lighting around her goes dimmer. “You found him.”

“I _sort of_ found him,” Mat corrects. “He doesn’t know me. It doesn’t count.”

“Mat,” Liana says, her gentle tone shifting to something a bit more stern. “Don’t be stupid. Think about it, what are the odds?”

Mat tries not to think about it, because finding Tito is meaningless if this is where it ends. He _does_ think about it, though, how he, on a quest for coffee went into the first place he passed on a whim— how he _literally_ bumped into the person he thought he lost— how he _found_ him and just like that, is ready to let him go.

“He remembered something or— I thought he did. He didn’t understand it,” Mat says, growing more frustrated by the minute. “But it doesn’t _matter_ , Liana. He’s not the same person we— _I_ knew. He’s not coming back.”

“Wait.” Liana stills. “He remembered something?”

“Yes, well, no.” Mat thinks back, hears the words _have fun_ in Tito’s voice. “He _said_ something that only I understood and then he just… freaked out.”

“And you’re going to _leave_?” Liana sighs.

“Fuck,” Mat says under his breath, because _of course_ it takes a verbal ass whipping from his little sister for Mat him to realizes the significance of that last moment he and Tito shared. Then he, like a complete idiot, threw his hands up and walked away the minute he was challenged. Liana is right— it’s _not_ the Barzal way.

Liana smiles and Mat knows it isn’t because she’s enjoying watching her brother wrack his brain. It’s because, due to her prodding, he’s come to realize that he _can’t_ leave things the way they are— that if he wants Tito back, he has to fight.

“I have to go,” Mat says quickly.

So fight he will.

..

The last thing Mat remembers after pocketing his phone is running, sneakers pounding the pavement as he circles around the hotel. Everything he passes by is a blur— the building, the bushes, the couple who turn to look at one another, perplexed.

Everything that surrounds Mat is just another obstacle blocking his path. With each one he passes, his legs moving faster and he hopes to find what he’s looking for when he reaches his end point.

He reaches the coffee shop, muscles aching, heart hammering within his chest. It’s busy— full of people who turn to look when he pushes through the door, the main barista one he’s never seen before. 

Mat inhales, steadying himself, wondering if something along the way changed— if, while running, the world turned on its axis and everything slid back into place. He checks his phone— battery dead— and panics.

 _Fuck_ , Mat thinks when he spins around, heads for the door and runs right into Tito for the second time that week.

“Whoa, Mat.” Tito braces himself, palms bracketing Mat’s sides.

“Where were—”

“Looking for you,” he admits, pulling Mat outside, away from the stream of customers and prying eyes. His eyes seem to light up, crinkling when he speaks again. “Found you.”

“Found you,” Mat repeats, smile cool enough to hide just how panic-stricken he was not five minutes earlier. “Though I guess I was supposed to stop looking.”

Tito’s shoulders slump when he exhales and Mat braces himself a second time, this time internally with hopes of lessening the inevitable impact of Tito’s next words.

“Can we… talk?”

There’s no tight feeling that follows, just one heavy wave that when it crashes, doesn’t bring Mat back to stage of panic— it’s quite the opposite, like the sunshine breaking through the clouds after a passing storm, the water below smoothing out until clear and level.

Mat can do talking. Talking means the storm has passed and Tito, smiling in response, is his sun shining through the now broken clouds.

“Okay,” Mat agrees.

“Somewhere else?” Tito’s eyes turn pleading, catching a co-worker waving at him. “I don’t care how busy it is in here, they’ve been trying to get me to come in all day— It’s my _day off_ ,” he says loudly, turning to the guy behind the counter who covertly flips him the bird.

“Yeah,” Mat says quickly, gathering his thoughts. “The park again?”

“Where’s your hotel?” 

Mat doesn’t expect that— not that he expected _anything_ when he landed in Montreal. Tito was a mystery, shy and curious, though cautious of Mat all the same. Something’s changed— something Mat’s determined to learn.

“A few blocks,” Mat says, shrugging.

“Okay, let’s go.”

It’s a short, mostly silent, walk, though nothing about it feels forced. Tito hums to himself when he passes a few different places where he’s been. “I used to work there,” he says when they walk by what looks like a small restaurant.

“And now you sell coffee?” Mat raises an eyebrow, thinking fondly of the few times Tito had cooked him dinner. “You used to make this unreal salmon when I’d come over sometimes.”

“Salmon?” Tito laughs when they stop at the corner, waiting for the light to change. “I can’t cook.”

“Have you ever tried?” 

“Of course not,” Tito says, looking over his shoulder when he begins to cross. “They only let me in the kitchen because I was the dishwasher.”

Mat follows close behind and though he doesn’t mean to, laughs. The Tito he knows always kept a tidy apartment but never once mentioned washing dishes for a living. 

“So when you come to New York for a game, you’ll wash my dishes?” Mat smiles, hopeful.

“What?” Tito rolls his eyes, shoving Mat’s side. “No, and I won’t cook for you either.”

Tito never says no to New York and that, Mat silently thinks, is a win.

“Next block, right there,” Mat says pointing to his hotel. “Not too far. What are the odds?”

Tito cranes his neck, looking up to take it all in. It’s one of the bigger hotels around, but even he seems impressed by how everything seemed to line up the way it did. Mat’s hotel technically isn’t on the same street as Tito’s place of employment, but it’s pretty darn close.

“Race you.” And with that, Tito takes off down the street.

“Hey!” Mat doesn’t run at first, just freezes up, watching Tito make his way down the street. Chasing him across the country when he didn’t know what the outcome would be was one thing— that he could do and would do all over again. Watching Tito run, laughing, thinking he’ll win— that’s when Mat decides to draw the line and let him go.

He follows behind quickly, picking up pace— knows he could easily pass him with the amount of training he’s done just in the past month. But Tito, happy and carefree reaches the front of the hotel, turns and smiles oh-so-victorious and Mat knows that letting him go this time was worth it.

Mat’s still catching him in the end.

“You win,” Mat says when he catches up, watching as a pink-faced Tito bounces on his heels.

“Guess you need to train some more, huh?” Tito’s smile is the wider than Mat remembers.

“Guess you’re right,” Mat agrees and when he leads Tito inside, hopes that regardless of the conversation they’re about to have, he’ll win much more than just a silly race.

..

“You were looking for me,” Mat says once he’s closed the door behind them.

Tito doesn’t say anything, making his way across the hotel room. He’s curious, bold even, looking at the belongings Mat has laid out around the room. It’s as if he’s exploring pieces of a large puzzle, trying to piece it all together in his head. 

“I guess I was.” Tito finally says, picking up a t-shirt off of the floor. “You’re a slob.”

“I know.” Mat grabs the t-shirt and tosses it on top of his bag. “You tell me all of the time.”

“I can see why.”

Mat doesn’t know why Tito takes it upon himself to begin tidying up his things and by the looks of things, Tito isn’t quite sure himself. When he’s done, everything folded into a neat pile, he sits down at the end of the bed.

“So we were like, going to live together?” Tito looks to Mat for an answer that stumps him— they’ve spoken about it once or twice, though the plan never came to fruition.

“I mean, I think so?” Mat sinks down next to him, turning sideways. “We talked about it a little bit, but it’s hard to make solid plans over the summer. Rosters change and all of that.”

“But if that didn’t change?”

“Then yeah,” Mat says, feeling the weight of his emotions sinking him down again.

“God.” Tito laughs to himself, looking over at the pile of clothes on the dresser. “I hope I wasn’t as messy as you are.”

“No,” Mat says, stretching his feet out across the ground below. “You used to give me so much shit for leaving my room a mess. Cleaned it once or twice.”

“Why did I do that?” Tito wrinkles his nose in disbelief.

“Why did you do it now?”

“I—” Tito begins, speechless. “I guess something kind of just… made me?”

“Kind of like when you said—”

Tito puts his hand out, resting it at Mat’s knee. If it’s in attempts to silence him, it works. Mat chews his lip instead, head tilted in question.

“Have Fun.”

“Yeah.” Mat doesn’t take his eyes away, searching for any recognition Tito might have. He can’t help but smile at the thought of Tito scrawing out the letters, tongue half out in concentration— how over time, it became _his_ thing.

“Is that what it said?” Tito asks when Mat doesn’t do much more than stumble over his own words. “On my hockey stick.”

“You remember?” Mat’s expression softens and it takes all of his willpower not to kiss a rather confused looking Tito. He _remembers_ — he—

“No,” Tito says, blinking slow. “I just— it popped into my head. Like, I could _see_ it.”

“That’s a memory.” Mat’s sure of it. 

Tito hums, moving his hand back to himself in what Mat knows isn’t a good sign. “It’s not my memory.”

“What if it is?” Mat narrows his eyes, refusing to believe that it’s all just a coincidence. 

“You can’t prove that it _is_.” Tito pulls himself to his feet, pacing the foot of the bed. It’s another little quirk Mat knows _isn’t_ a coincidence— it’s Tito, fidgety and unable to sit down when there’s too much on his mind— it’s the Tito he knows who needs convincing.

“You could come with me.” Mat reaches out, catching Tito’s arm. It stops him in his place. This time, he frowns, but doesn't pull away.

“I— I really can’t.”

It’s an answer Mat doesn’t like but one he both expected and understands. He knows had things been reversed, he’d be just as reluctant to drop his life and follow a complete stranger to a place that’s new and unknown.

“I like you,” Tito says. “If that’s any consolation.”

Somehow, it hurts even more.

“We were friends.” Mat gives Tito’s arm a light tug, pulling him closer until he sits once more. “Best friends.”

“We could still be friends.” Tito gives Mat a weak smile. “I just can’t go to your _home_ — your friends, your family— I don’t— how would that help me remember anyway?”

“What if—” Mat begins. It’s a crazy thought, one that’s just a few words dancing at the tip of his tongue. Tito won’t fly to British Columbia. It’s far and sudden and maybe a bit too out there, but maybe— “I could show you where we play, where we— _you_ live.”

“New York?”

Mat nods, hopeful. “New York.”

“I’ve never been there,” Tito says, smiling through the ridiculous request.

Mat knows that’s a lie, at least in his world. New York isn’t a place without Tito— Tito, like New York, is loud and unique with a new surprise at every corner. Mat could never grow tired of New York and he _especially_ could never grow tired of Tito. 

New York, Mat decides, _needs_ Tito.

His first experience of New York, sans Tito, was one he hoped to be his last. Tito, shipped off to Bridgeport in some stupid stint that Mat still doesn’t understand woke up him to a whole new reality— that there’s no guarantee in hockey. Rosters change, players move and Tito, waking up in New York but falling asleep in Connecticut was never part of the plan.

Mat knows, in retrospect, he was being selfish. Tito had an entire season without Mat. Mat was sent back to Seattle. But Bridgeport, unlike Seattle, was an easy stepping stone— one Tito took on headfirst and climbed right to the top. 

He wasn’t gone long and Mat, though selfish, was glad the day Tito came back up, ready to fight and more confident than ever. 

This time, it’s Mat’s turn to fight for Tito.

“You told me to leave,” Mat reminds him, not willing to relive that moment, yet knowing a gentle reminder is needed.

“I know.” Tito, eyes sad, leans, head resting at Mat’s shoulder. It’s surprising, but Mat doesn't dare question it. “I… got scared.”

“What?” Mat turns, slightly, though it’s difficult to look right at Tito, who only nestles against him further. “Why were you scared?”

Tito lifts his head and when their eyes lock, Mat’s stomach flips, knowing the answer.

“I could kiss you,” Tito says, face just inches away. It doesn’t feel right to Mat— like maybe Tito wouldn’t kiss him in any other scenario— but then Tito _does_ kiss him and Mat has a hard time turning that into a no.

It’s far too short, over before it’s started and Mat’s left running his tongue along his bottom lip in the absence of Tito’s gentle kiss.

“Why’d you do that?”

“Dunno,” Tito says with a small smile. “Felt… right?”

Mat laughs, not because it’s funny— quite the opposite actually.

He’s kissed Tito plenty of times, most of them unexpected and never discussed past that point. Mat remembers laugh-filled kisses in exchange for game winning goals— lazy kisses after a nice breakfast— kisses that stayed as just that— kisses.

“We used to do that sometimes,” Mat says, the weight of it all coming to light.

“Oh.” Tito smiles, simple as that.

Mat thinks about the hockey stick conversation, how Tito just _knew_ what he felt— how if he felt that then, knowing what _his_ Tito knew, then—

“Fuck,” Mat says under his breath when it all begins to make painful sense. “You loved me too.”

..

The next time Mat checks the clock, it’s well past midnight and they’ve moved from the foot of the bed to the top, propped up against large, fluffy pillows. 

“So we played really well together, huh?” Tito yawns into the back of his hand, smiling and still focused on Mat— interested in all of the things he’s said— things he still has to say.

“We really did,” Mat says, smiling fondly at the few memories he’s stored— ones that make him long for those days once more. “I was going to win an award thanks to you.”

“Really?” Tito shifts to his side, examining Mat’s face. “I think you’ll win. And not because of me— because of you. You’re good. Even without me.”

“I was best with you.”

They’re silent for a beat, Mat wondering how he’s supposed to pick up and move on after this one. He’s watched the highlights of his goals— they’re all the same, save for the fact that Tito’s been replaced by a different teammate each and every time. 

Tito closes his eyes and for a split second, Mat thinks he’s fallen asleep.

When he opens them again, he smiles.

“What is it?”

“We _were_ the best.” Tito laughs, eyes tired and still brighter than ever. 

“I know but.” Mat, out of instinct, takes Tito’s hand. “That was then.”

Tito gives Mat’s hand a squeeze that he thinks is meant to be reassuring. All it does is make him long for what he can’t have even more. He promised Dante he wouldn’t pine— that at the end of the day, when all was said and done, he’d go home.

“Are you leaving tomorrow?” Tito asks, voice low, as if he knew it was coming.

“Yeah.” Mat’s barely able to look at Tito.

Tito frowns. Mat knows he must feels bad if he’s letting a stranger admit his weird, unrequited love— it’s the most _this_ Tito can give him when his is gone from his life.

“Maybe this is what you needed to do to find your place again.” Tito bites his lip.

It’s a suggestion— moving on— that Mat doesn’t even know how to begin putting into consideration.

“To find you just to lose you twice?” Mat laughs, sharp and bitter. “That sounds like exactly what I needed.”

“No.” Tito sits up, sudden. “Maybe— we could go to New York?”

“Yeah?” Mat’s eyes follow Tito as he moves. He wants to jump, he wants to yell, because if Tito’s willing to go with him— to see where they lived, what they did— maybe, just _maybe_ he’d get his Tito back.

“Yeah,” Tito says, exhaling. “I mean, my job sucks and I— just give me two weeks to give them notice?”

“Okay, yeah.” Mat agrees, unable to hold back his smile. “Two weeks.”

“Do you still have to leave tomorrow?”

Mat thinks about the flight confirmation sitting in his email. He can’t stay— Dante, his family, _everyone_ would think it were crazy, living out of a suitcase until someone they don’t know— Tito— is ready to meet him in Brooklyn.

“Yeah, but.” This time, Mat doesn’t care. There’s no reason to hold back when the future isn’t certain. He leans in, lips pressing upon lips, eyes closing when Tito sighs softly. “Stay here tonight?”

Tito smiles, nods and stretches out on his half of the mattress. “Good because I wasn’t really planning on leaving.”

Mat doesn’t know where Tito lives— how far his car is, if he has one. He doesn’t question it, just settles down into the mattress, happy to feel the familiar shifting of weight against his side.

When he closes his eyes and drifts off, Mat, for the first time in a long while, is happy.

..

Mat’s suitcase is only three-quarters of the way packed when Tito sits at the end of his hotel bed, slipping back into his shoes.

“Barzy?”

Mat feels his throat tighten. Had he told Tito his nickname? He doesn’t recall bringing it up and even if Tito Googled him— which he knows he did— it isn’t like it’s something you’d find on the first page of results. 

“Yes?” Mat responds slowly.

“So I’m right then.” Tito runs a hand through his flattened hair, pulling himself to his feet. 

“About?” Mat gives up trying to shove all of his clothing into his suitcase momentarily, because if Tito’s about to remember important details— even if no one else does— he doesn’t want it to be while trying to stuff his underwear into a corner of his bag.

“Your nickname.”

“Yes.” Mat stands still, unsure what to do with his hands or his life, really. Leaving Tito behind is going to be one of the hardest things he’s done to date— including leaving Coquitlam for New York City.

“Okay, so,” Tito starts, beginning to pace again. “I can’t leave today. And my birthday is next week so—”

“I know,” Mat interrupts. “Best friends, remember?”

“Oh,” Tito says with a grin. “Yeah, sorry.”

“Brooklyn then?” Mat doesn’t know how he’s going to squeeze in a few days between training and the NHL Awards to travel to let alone through New York City, but the idea of turning Tito away now isn’t an option.

“Yeah, Brooklyn.”

Once Mat’s bags are packed, they stand together awkwardly in the center of the room, Mat wondering what it will be like when they meet again— _if_ they do.

“So you’ll meet me there— the fifteenth?” Mat doesn’t want to have his doubts, especially not when Tito’s in front of him, taking down his information. Tito punches his phone number into his phone and he does the same in his for extra insurance. 

When they walk down the hallway, suitcase dragging behind, Tito grabs Mat’s free hand, fingers linking together in what’s a silent promise. Tito stays with Mat while they wait for his taxi and when a car pulls up, Mat’s stomach aches.

“Guess this is it,” Mat says softly.

It’s hard for Mat to move away, to walk through the double doors without Tito. It’s even harder when Tito follows him outside, shouting. “Wait!”

“What are you doing?” Mat gives the taxi driver a sympathetic look, then turns to Tito.

“I could drive you,” Tito says quickly, looking as if he’s calculating something in his head. “We could have a little more time that way.”

Mat knows it’ll be harder— this way was much like ripping off a band-aid. He sighs, reaches into his wallet and passes the driver some money, mumbling a, “sorry.”

Tito smiles. He’s happy enough to drag Mat’s luggage the few blocks back to the coffee shop where his car sits from the night before. It’s nothing like the car Mat remembers— new and shiny— this one, dented and missing it’s bumper, is apparently his chariot for the afternoon.

“It’s a real piece of shit, I know,” Tito says when he starts up the car and the engine stutters. “Probably nothing like the Lambo I have in your world.”

Mat laughs— hard. “How the fuck much do you think you make?”

Cheeks tinted pink, Tito shrugs.

Somewhat bumpy ride aside, Mat rolls down the windows and laughs when Tito sings along loudly to the radio. Tito doesn’t know, but it _almost_ feels like home.

Mat almost forgets where they’re headed until the car pulls into the airport parking lot and he’s instantly filled with dread all over again. Tito stays by his side, following him as far as he can go, through check in and all of the way down just before security checks signal the end of their walk.

Saying goodbye, as Mat expected, sucks. Hands fumbling with his ticket and passport, he struggles to find the right words. A simple _see you next season_ type of goodbye— that Mat could do. Easy.

Saying goodbye to someone he doesn’t know if he’ll see again proves to be much harder. He does the first thing that seems right and pulls Tito into a tight hug, afraid to pull away and lose his best friend all over again. At least this way, he thinks, they’re still friends. When Tito pulls back, his stomach churns.

“I feel sick,” Mat says, laughing in attempts to brush it all off.

Tito, smile small and sad, leans over, presses a kiss to the corner of Mat’s mouth and whispers, “The fifteenth. I _promise_.”

And Mat believes him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Tito calls in to work the day Mat leaves.

He, at first, didn’t believe a word Mat said. It’s not every day a stranger shows up claiming to be your best friend. Had Mat not been so persistent— so _sad_ , Tito would like to think he’d have quickly dismissed him.

But.

Something about Mat— his sad eyes, his charming, convincing smile— pulled at something within Tito. Mat’s a bit crazy, but fun, Tito remembers thinking, taking joy in his innocent stories as a way to pass the time. True or not, he never had the heart to turn him away.

Not until an apparent memory, so unrecognizable, pops up and suddenly Tito sees himself standing in a strange room, taping a hockey stick, scrawling in that tape and all he can think over and over are two words that feel heavier each time they’re repeated—

 _Have Fun_.

It, admittedly, was a lot. So Tito, in that confusing and terrifying moment, did what he does best when things are confusing. He pushes and runs.

It’s the little voice in the back of his mind— the sudden memories he knows aren’t his— the feelings about someone he doesn’t know or understand that bring him right back into Mat’s world.

Now, Mat’s some thousand feet in the air, fading back out of Tito’s life and Tito knows he’ll never be able to go back to his mundane life without consequence. Two weeks or two days no longer matter— he thinks of his job at the coffee shop and knows he won’t be back.

Tito sits in his car, watching the planes take off and land for a good hour before realizing that his next step is to do exactly what he’s best at—

Run.

By the time Tito turns his car back on, the sun hangs low in the sky and he knows that sooner or later, it’ll disappear behind the trees and be replaced by the warm glow of lights overhead. He wonders where Mat is— if he’s already counting down the days until they’re reunited.

It’s inexplicable, Tito thinks, once he’s crawling into the safety of his own bed, how much a stranger can make him feel.

..

The next two days are quiet.

Tito works and while it doesn’t take his mind off of Mat entirely, it gives him something to do that _isn’t_ price matching different flights out to JFK.

Mat texts Tito nightly, to check in, he presumes. They talk about random things, though it always cycles back to hockey and each time, Tito gently reminds him—

_I’m not a hockey player._

He reads about Mat some more. He watches interviews, smiling when Mat laughs. It’s a sound he swears he doesn’t know, but can’t quite explain why each time Mat laughs, smiles, even just _speaks_ — it feels like home.

Tito imagines suiting up for a game, taping a hockey stick for real and joining Mat out on the ice. He hasn’t gone skating since he was fourteen and the idea of attempting to do so makes his stomach twist— but this is all fantasy— in his mind, he doesn’t wobble. 

Tito dreams more, too.

He dreams about a thrilling win— riding the train through what he thinks, no, _knows_ is Manhattan and sharing dessert with a tipsy Mat.

He dreams about flying above white-capped mountains, the roaring of an engine and Mat’s laugh above it all.

He dreams about waking up early to cook bacon and eggs, laughing when Mat comes out of the bedroom, hair a mess.

He dreams about sitting on a leather couch, Mat at his side while they make plans for a future— one that includes a shared apartment and a dog.

The more he dreams, the more he believes everything Mat tells him. Mat’s stories are so much more than that. His stories _aren’t_ made up fairytales to pass the time— they’re real.

By the third day, something in the universe disrupts his silence.

Tito plans to do things right. He gives his two week notice and though his boss isn’t happy, she seems understanding when he gives a little white lie about needing to take some time away to get his life situated.

He’s refilling a stack of paper cups when his fingers vibrate, tapping along to a familiar tune over the radio. It’s something he’s heard a time or two before— this time, it’s different.

Tito doesn’t just picture Mat, he _feels_ his presence— pulling him into what looks like a bedroom full of his things, music louder in his ears. Mat laughs, Tito sings along.

“I can’t _believe_ that game,” Mat says, throwing an arm around Tito, messing his hair with the proudest of smiles. “Thanks to you.”

Tito isn’t sure why, but he feels Mat had a lot to do with it, too. He doesn’t feel anything else spoken between them, just the warmth of Mat’s mouth against his own, making his heart flip, stomach exploding with butterflies.

He’s in love.

“ _Anthony_.”

An annoyed voice jolts him back to reality, where there’s no Mat— no bedroom or laughter, the familiar song having ended long ago.

“I, uh, sorry,” he says, clearing his throat when he realizes he’s knocked half of the cups onto the floor.

“Mark those down as a loss,” his manager says, rolling her eyes before she disappears into the back.

 _Leaving here won’t be a loss_ , he thinks to himself as he begins to pick up the mess.

When he _does_ leave, it’s late. He’s tired, feet sore from standing and all he can think about is packing his bags and finding his way back to Mat. After a quick dinner, he settles into bed, unlocks his phone and opens FaceTime.

“Hey.” Mat answers with a smile. “Done with work?”

“ _Finally_ ,” Tito says with a long sigh. He’s frustrated, but then Mat smiles, makes him remember that two weeks isn’t that far away and he _can_ do this.

They sit in silence for a few moments, Tito just happy to see Mat’s face. When Mat can’t quite stop smiling, Tito’s pretty sure the feeling is mutual.

“What are you doing for your birthday?” Mat breaks the silence.

“Family dinner, I guess.” Tito hadn’t thought about it. His boss was nice enough to give him the day off and while twenty-one is kind of a big deal in the grand scheme of adulthood, he doesn’t see it as being anything particularly exciting.

“Chocolate cake?”

Tito smiles. He doesn’t know how Mat knows. He just _does_. “Always.”

“Is your mom still, um,” Mat begins, voice trailing off. He doesn’t have to finish the sentence for Tito to pick up the implication.

“ _A lot_? God, yeah,” Tito says with a laugh. It doesn’t surprise him to hear that his mother is just as intense as a hockey mom— probably even more so. Though she always means well, the thought alone is mildly terrifying.

“Does she know you’re leaving?”

“No, well, yes, but.” Tito ducks his head, biting his lip off frame, knowing well Mat can’t see his expression. “How do you explain something like this to your family without them thinking you’re nuts?”

“Trust me,” Mat laughs. “You don’t.”

The sound of Mat’s laugh makes Tito’s stomach twist and long for him in ways he doesn’t quite understand.

If he could afford to, he’d leave sooner, visions of watching the sunset over the Brooklyn Bridge with Mat at his side burning into the back of his mind. It’s new— nothing like the memories that come to him. No, this, Tito realizes, isn’t a memory— it’s _hope_.

“I can’t wait to see you.” Tito doesn’t know what makes himself admit that. He can see Mat just fine over FaceTime.

Mat, in turn, sticks his tongue out, pulling one of the dumbest faces Tito’s ever seen. It’s a face that, while stupid, he’s somehow— hopelessly— in love with.

..

Work sucks and in turn, continues to suck the life out of Tito.

His routine changes, though slightly— rushing home from work each day, talking to Mat until one of them is too tired to continue. More often than not, he falls asleep, phone propped up on the pillow next to him.

Tito’s boss is harder on him, because he’s leaving— because he can’t concentrate on anything that isn’t Mat anymore. Thoughts of holding Mat’s hand, secrets exchanged with subtle glances from across a crowded room and sneaking kisses in the dark fill his daily thoughts, making him wish it were that simple to just leave town and fall back into the supposed role that Mat remembers Tito filling.

His birthday is a quiet dinner with his family, followed by late drinks with friends— friends who he’s known, or thinks he’s known, for quite some time and yet— He feels alone.

Someone makes an inside joke. It’s one Tito knows he was part of, but can’t quite place it. When he doesn’t laugh, the joke is repeated. It still isn’t funny. Tito can’t remember it. 

Nothing makes sense anymore.

“Are you okay?” Tito hears one of the guys ask, but he’s already standing up.

“Just tired,” Tito mumbles, followed by a quick apology. “It’s been a long day.”

Promises to “chill soon,” hang in the air, but once Tito gets back home he knows they’re promises that are soon to be broken. When he settles into bed, Tito knows the only promise he _can_ keep is the one he can’t stop thinking about.

The flight— the city— Mat.

Just two weeks. 

Then two _long_ , _unbearable_ weeks become one week.

And Tito knows he can do this.

He works, he packs, he works some more. 

Then, finally, he’s saying goodbye to his family and his mom cries when they’re at the airport. He doesn’t tell her why he’s going— it’s easier to pass it off as a new job opportunity— but then his mother, hugging him, crying into his shoulder and having a hard time letting go, causes a bit of panic in the back of his mind. It hits him that she thinks he’s _actually_ leaving— for _good_.

“I’ll be back,” he promises, though wonders if this, like his other promises, is blank.

“No,” his mother says, wiping a tear and bracketing his shoulders, smile large and proud. “Go do some amazing things, honey. I know you will.”

“I will.”

That promise he believes.

..

Tito didn’t sleep much the night before. He’s exhausted, but stays awake the entire flight, smiling, re-reading Mat’s _see you soon_ text over and over again.

 _Soon_ , he repeats to himself when the pilot announces the plane’s descent.

JFK is busy, as expected, and though Tito has never been there before, he easily finds his way. There’s signs and arrows and a steady flow of traffic that make it impossible to get lost on his way to baggage claim.

As Tito walks towards the unloading area, his heart begins to beat faster, picturing Mat slightly tanned and smiling standing there— waiting for _him_. He imagines them running into each other’s arms, laughing when their lips meet. 

When he reaches the belt, however, Mat _isn’t_ there.

He checks his watch. Mat’s flight should have landed at least twenty minutes earlier.

Tito’s suitcase comes around and after grabbing it, he pulls his phone from his pocket. No text. No missed call. No sign of Mat.

He remembers Mat telling him, in detail, how all signs of him disappeared the same time that he did. Tito knows _he_ didn’t disappear this time— he’s still no hockey player. He even types his own name, then Mat’s, into google to double check.

Mat’s still a hockey player. He isn’t.

Tito circles the terminal, dragging his suitcase behind and squeezing around strangers of all ages. He listens for Mat’s voice, hoping that they’ll pass by one another and if he’s not alert, he’ll miss the sound of him calling.

He hears phones ringing, senseless chatter and squeaky wheels. There’s a baby crying somewhere in the distance. There’s laughter, too, though none of it familiar. Hundreds of voices in varying pitch fill his ears, reminding him that none of them are quite right— none of them are Mat.

It’s loud. _Too loud_ , Tito decides, an unwelcome, dizzying warmth taking hold of his body. His heart races as the noise amplifies, gripping the handle of his suitcase, knuckles white when he turns again and again with no sign of Mat. It’s too much— too loud, too hot, too _unknown_.

Tito doesn’t know where he is— doesn’t know where he’s going, just that he needs to move— to get away from the people and the noise, with or without Mat. He yanks his suitcase, making his way through the crowd, apologizing when he bumps someone’s shoulder. 

It’s a strange city that oddly feels like home. When Tito closes his eyes, he can almost picture the taxi drive down to an apartment that he didn’t know he had— his car, back seat still full of boxes parked nearby. 

When his eyes open again, he finds he’s turned himself around again, left staring across the terminal directly at a familiar figure, crouched against the wall, head in his hands. Tito takes a few steps forward— not by choice— his body leads the way.

“Mat?” Tito’s brows furrow when Mat lifts his head and his features come into focus. He looks exactly how Tito feels— stressed, tired, confused. “How long have you been sitting here?”

Mat stares, as if seeing Tito for the first time. He smile is wary— unsure— and for a split second, Tito thinks Mat’s forgotten him.

“Barzy, c’mon. Don’t tell me I flew out here and you don’t remember—”

“I didn’t think you’d _actually_ show.” Mat’s slow to rise to his feet and everything about it feels unsettling until he pulls Tito forward into a tight hug.

“Of course I did. It’s all we’ve been talking about for weeks. No backing out here.” Tito, arms slightly pinned beneath Mat’s, leans into the embrace and in that brief moment, feels he’s right where he belongs.

Mat’s voice is so low that Tito almost misses it when he speaks. “I almost did.”

Just like that, Mat’s arms loosen and Tito breaks apart from their hug.

“You were going to leave me _here_? _Alone_? In _New York_?” Tito gives an atypical laugh— one he hopes conveys nothing short of disbelief. “I left my home, I quit my job, I—”

“I know,” Mat says, eyes flitting back and forth between Tito and the ground. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry I flew out here,” Tito shoots back. Mat winces and Tito knows that his words hurt. _Good_ , he thinks when he turns to walk away. 

“Hey, no, wait,” Mat says quickly, but Tito ignores him.

He can hear Mat’s sneakers on the tiles behind him, but Tito isn’t turning around. All he can think about is finding a flight home— fast. His eyes sting, but he isn’t crying— at least he doesn’t _think_ he is— and especially not over some guy he doesn’t know. It’s a game, Tito tells himself, when he rounds a corner.

It probably looks ridiculous— Mat chasing after Tito in a crowded airport, but Tito doesn’t care. He doesn’t know these people. He isn’t even sure he knows Mat.

When he reaches the front door and pushes through it, the outside air is thick and warm. _At least it’s quiet_ , Tito thinks all too soon.

“Tito, _please_.”

“Please _what_ , Mat?” Tito turns, knowing well enough that if Mat flew to Quebec for him, he wasn’t going to give up the chase that easily, despite almost leaving him alone in the middle of the city. This time, when their eyes meet Mat doesn’t look away.

“What,” Tito repeats, softer.

Mat steps forward and holds out his hand, but Tito doesn’t budge. It’s hard to trust someone who was ready to leave him stranded in an unknown city.

“Asking you to come here was fucking crazy.” Mat moves closer, but puts his arm down. “Like, I just showed up one day and asked you and you took this blind leap of faith and _actually_ did it. Do you know how crazy that is?”

Tito opens his mouth to speak— to deny it— but Mat’s _right_.

“I _know_ it’s crazy,” Tito says, moving in and finally letting Mat into a little of his space. “That’s why I did it.”

Mat raises an eyebrow, then grins. “Sorry I kind of, you know.”

“Freaked out?” It’s something Tito knows all too well. He’s done plenty of it lately.

“Yeah.” Mat sighs, carefully resting a hand at Tito’s shoulder. “You deserve a lot better than this mess, you know?”

Tito laughs. “Better? Before you showed up, my life was _boring_. I thought, Jesus, there _has_ to be more to life than stocking paper cups and making drinks all day. I live with my parents. I haven’t had a date in like, over a year.”

“So what’s wrong with that?” Mat’s concerned eyes almost make Tito believe that his life— the life before Mat— _wasn’t_ boring.

“Um, it’s lame?” Tito looks at Mat, wishing things were easier. He could see himself dating Mat— _easily_. If only Mat weren’t so hung up on another version of Tito. It’s a version Tito knows he’ll never be, his heart nearly breaking with each reminder that that Tito has reached a standard he can never quite live up to.

Mat, shaking his head, speaks, voice soft and reassuring. “It’s not lame. I’m single, been single for awhile. And pretty much everyone our age lives with their parents.”

“Do you live with your parents?” Tito raises an eyebrow, looking to prove a point. He loves his parents. They’re loving and supportive of everything Tito does, even if it’s just making coffee.

“God no,” Mat says quickly. “I mean, sometimes. In the off season, but not like, all of the time, you know?”

And no, Tito doesn’t know.

He’s a regular guy, working a boring job just to get by. He’s got a sad excuse for a savings account, a bedroom at his parent’s house and a hand-me-down car. The idea of living alone— of being able to afford just the necessities— is foreign, scary and something he isn’t sure he’ll ever get to know.

He doesn’t tell Mat, though, just shrugs it off to save face. He doesn’t think Mat understands their difference in salary anyway.

“Better is subjective,” Tito says. “Better is a new adventure in a new city. I’ll go home when it stops being fun. Or until I’m broke, whichever comes first.”

“New York can get pretty expensive.” Mat adjusts the backpack on his shoulder, takes the handle of Tito’s suitcase and motions towards the parking lot, starting to drag both of their luggage. “C’mon, we’ll worry about that later. We can talk more at the hotel.”

It throws Tito— hearing they’re staying in a hotel when they both supposedly live somewhere in the city, though he guesses his hypothetical place is likely now non-existent.

It’s all something Tito’s willing to question later, once he’s settled into a room for the night. With a nod, he follows.

..

The hotel is underwhelming and doesn’t incite any familiar feelings within Tito itself, because it’s in Brooklyn and _not_ where they live, or so he’s told. Then Mat flops down on the bed across from him and something inside clicks.

Tito recalls Mat’s stories of them rooming together on the road and though this particular hotel is strange to him, he can’t help but wonder if this is how each roadtrip with Mat felt— new and exciting.

“I figured we’d get dinner in a bit,” Mat says, leaning back against the headboard. “And tomorrow I can show you around, if you’re up for it.”

“Dinner sounds good.” Tito smiles a bit uneasy, knowing where this is heading. “Are we going to one of our favorite places?”

Mat smiles, wider than ever. “You know it. Reservations are at 8.”

“Reservations?” Tito checks his watch and it’s still closer to 6:00 than anything. “When are we leaving? Like, an hour?” 

“No, twenty minutes,” Mat says, leaning on his side with a smirk. “It’s New York.”

 _Of course_ , Tito thinks, cheeks pink with embarrassment. His embarrassment lingers until they hop on a train and ride further into the city, heading for a restaurant that Tito swears he can almost picture in his mind.

They’re both in nice enough clothing, but something tells Tito that usual train rides require them being a bit more dressed up. He imagines Mat next to him, high on life and happy— people coming to high-five them for winning a game, though it feels like an event that’s far and few in between.

“Did we suck?” Tito asks, rather bluntly, breaking the silence between them.

“What?” Mat just about chokes on air, raising an eyebrow. His cheeks turn tint pink and Tito’s pretty sure it’s how he looked earlier, though Mat’s reason is slightly funnier.

“The _team_ ,” Tito says, laughing. “Were we bad?”

“No.” Mat’s defensive, Tito can tell. “Not _bad_ , just… disorganized.” 

“And without me?” 

Mat squeezes Tito’s knee, as if to say _don’t you dare_. “We _aren’t_ talking about it.”

The thing is, when Tito thinks about it, he doesn’t remember sad train rides with Mat. He remembers smiles and laughter and the occasional head on his shoulder before they pull into their stop. He sees reaching their stop, Mat tugging him to his feet and a short walk to a restaurant where they celebrate— Because hard work pays off and _you deserve it_ , he swears he can hear Mat say.

“Tito,” Mat _actually_ says, bringing him back to reality. “This is our stop.”

“Huh, sorry.” Sheepish, he reaches for Mat’s hand. When they’re outside and the restaurant finally comes into view, he just knows it’s the one.

“Catch?”

“Mhm,” Mat says, walking a little quicker. “Just in time.”

When he walks inside, Tito’s speechless.

“What do you think?” Mat doesn’t stop smiling until they’re seated and he looks over a menu that Tito knows he has to have memorized by now.

“It’s… I mean, we’ve been here, I know.” Tito looks down at his menu and then his heart just about stops, jaw dropping when he sees the prices. “I uh— don’t think I’m hungry though.”

“Hey,” Mat says, voice low. “You know I like, have money, right? And I’m not bragging, it’s just— I took you here, so I’m paying. Order what you want.”

Tito thinks about it, looks over the menu again, then sets it back down. “It’s _expensive_.”

“It’s all part of the process— remembering, you _have_ to.” Mat isn’t exactly pleading, but he’s persuasive enough in the way he smiles at Tito, motioning for him to look at the menu again. “Otherwise you flew out here for nothing.”

“I flew out for a vacation,” Tito says, sighing and pointing to the salmon. “And dinner with a friend.”

Mat shakes his head with a laugh. “Unreal, I knew it.”

“Was that the right choice?” Tito looks at the menu again, unsure, but salmon sounds good. Ordering salmon doesn’t just feel right— it’s what he wants.

“Predictable, but yes.” And Mat smiles, _proud_.

Not only is it the most expensive salmon Tito’s ordered, but the best tasting. He hardly talks during his meal, taking his time to eat and drink and just enjoy Mat’s company. When the waitress comes over and asks if they want dessert, Tito hesitates, but Mat cuts in.

“Hit Me Cake, of course,” Mat says, looking at Tito. “It’s tradition.”

Moments later, when it’s placed between the two them, Tito’s eyes widen.

He watches as Mat carefully picks up a small cup, pouring chocolate liquid all over the top— _knowing_ this isn’t something new between the two of them. Mat’s intent wasn’t just to celebrate, but to jolt something lodged in the back of Tito’s memory.

“We’ve done this before.” He looks over the tall, square cake, rich and chocolate and he can almost taste it. Tito knows that somewhere, _somehow_ he’s tasted it before. 

“A time or two,” Mat says, corners of his eyes crinkling when he smiles and hands Tito a spoon. “This is your favorite part.”

Tito, spoon in hand, hesitates, until Mat nods, prompting him to crack the top layer of the cake. When the ice cream and fudge ooze down, over the rest of the cake, Tito laughs, happy, immediately digging in for a taste.

“Oh my God,” he says, mouth full. It’s just as amazing as he anticipated, maybe even better. The ice cream melts together with the fudge and when his eyes fall shut, savoring every last bite, Mat laughs.

“You really like that, huh?” Mat scoops a bit of brownie up for himself and spoons it into his mouth with a satisfying, “Mmm.”

“I could eat this every day,” Tito decides.

“So you’ve said. You’ve _tried_ ,” Mat says with a snort.

“But my _diet_.”

Tito doesn’t really _have_ a diet, at least nothing on the level of an athlete. He eats and drinks whatever he wants and yeah, he works out some. Most of his summers consist of working with a little bit of swimming and random recreational sports with his friends.

 _Diet_ isn’t exactly a popular word in his vocabulary.

Then he takes another bite, watches Mat do the same and knows that it doesn’t matter. It isn’t a tradition to eat the cake every visit— they haven’t and wouldn’t— it’s special, reserved for their biggest wins. 

Mat can’t stop laughing, wiping chocolate from the corner of his mouth. If Tito’s counting, it looks like a win— probably his biggest one yet.

They don’t finish the entire cake— it’s far too rich and Tito finds it hard to concentrate on anything but Mat’s smile. He’s so focused, that he almost misses when Mat quickly slips his credit card into the book, paying for what he can only imagine was the most expensive meal he’s ever had.

“Tomorrow we can see Barclays but I have some other things planned first,” Mat says once they’re back out on the street and the buildings surrounding have since then lit up to compliment the setting sun.

“What things?” Tito asks as they begin their walk back to the train, fingers brushing Mat’s hand. 

“That’s a surprise.” Mat doesn’t pull away when their hands bump— he doesn’t exactly grab Tito’s either. 

Tito knows why. 

New York is Mat’s home. He’s a well known athlete on the streets where everyone knows his name. Mat is high profile and Tito— he’s nobody. He accepts it, knowing they come from different worlds. Tito’s not the type of person whose hand Mat _would_ hold. Not in public, anyway. 

It stings, strangely, but Tito doesn't let his disappointment show. He accepts it.

..

“Thank you again for dinner.” Tito kicks off his shoes when they’re back in the hotel, watching Mat move across the room. He lifts his glasses just enough to rub his eyes, then falls onto the bed he claimed as his for the night.

“Don’t worry about it,” Mat says, sitting at the edge of his own bed, untying his shoes. “It was the least I could do, man. I mean, like you said… you quit your job.”

“Oh,” Tito laughs. “So I’m a charity case.”

Mat bends, setting his shoes next to the bed and then he straightens up, eyes meeting Tito’s with a matching grin. “Part of being a hockey player is giving to the less fortunate.” 

“Asshole,” Tito says, still laughing. “I thought you didn’t need someone else’s help to make you look good. Is that why I’m here? Did you forget how to play?”

“What? _No_ , don’t be an idiot.” Mat runs a hand through his hair, brushing aside the stray strand of hair that had fallen over his eyes. “I missed my best friend.”

“Funny way of showing it, don’t you think?” Tito pulls a face, sticking his tongue out. The chirping doesn’t bother him— something about it feels all too routine. There’s something about the way Mat looks at him that tells him jokes aside, he cares.

Mat goes silent, momentarily, turning his hands over in his lap. “It almost felt like the real thing.”

“I’m still real, Barzy.” Tito laughs, again. “Just… different.”

“Hockey aside, this feels pretty normal,” Mat says, mouth turning up into another smile. “Normal for us anyway.”

“What’s normal for us?” Tito tilts his head slightly. Everything he’s pictured— the closeless, the laughter, the kisses— have become things he never knew he wanted until recently. If that was their normal, then it’s one Tito’s willing to recreate.

Mat is slow to get up and it’s only a few steps before he’s repositioning himself on Tito’s bed instead of his own. “Mostly this.”

“Mostly?” Tito shifts, turning until he’s on his side, legs pressing against legs. He smiles and when Mat smiles, too, his stomach flips over. It feels safe and warm sidled against Mat— like he’s right where he belongs.

“Usually _you_ crawl into _my_ bed,” Mat says with a gentle laugh, sweeping his hand along Tito’s leg and resting at upon his knee. He settles himself down into the mattress, toes curling when he stretches his legs, like he’s planning on staying there awhile.

Tito exhales, feeling as if Mat’s touch alone is sending vibrations throughout his body. The bed they’re in is strange and it holds no personal meaning that Tito can tell, so he isn’t surprised he doesn’t picture them curled up in it. Still, Tito knows better than to assume it’s never happened— not when Mat gives his knee a playful squeeze, sending his stomach tumbling again. “Then?”

“Then you fall asleep.”

“In your bed?” Tito’s laugh is small, distant almost when he feels it this time— Mat’s body pressed up against his, warm and gentle as fingertips brush his side, lulling him into a peaceful sleep. He’s awake, now, but could easily fall asleep that way if he were brave enough to ask for it.

“Yep.” Mat grins. “Snoring and all.”

Tito rolls his eyes. He _doesn’t_ snore. He opens his mouth to protest, but Mat is too quick on the uptake. “And don’t you dare tell me you don’t snore again.”

 _Again_ , Tito thinks, as if Mat’s ever actually shared a bed with him. If Mat’s version of Tito plays hockey and he doesn’t, then maybe Mat’s version snores, but Tito definitely does _not_. “You’re wrong, I’d never do that.”

“We’ll see,” Mat says, grinning. “I mean, so far, your quirks are the same. Guess now you just have to prove me wrong.”

Tito stops just long enough to wonder. “What’s something I would have never done?”

“You never got into a fight.” Mat laughs, shaking his head. “Well, almost, sort of. You came to my defense once. But it wasn’t a _fight_. You’re soft like that.”

“I’m not _soft_ ,” Tito says quickly, though his voice says otherwise. He’s not exactly the fighting type and though hockey-knowledge limited, knows he wouldn’t be the kind to throw any punches willingly, either. “I wouldn’t— I mean, if someone walked in here and punched you, I’d punch them back.”

“You’d avenge me, huh?” Mat sits up a little, pressing his fingers into the sides of Tito’s ribs.

Tito laughs, mostly out of surprise, wriggling beneath Mat’s touch. “Hey, stop that, I—” He manages to grab one of Mat’s hands, holding it in place. “How hard is someone punching you that I have to _avenge_ you? And _I’m_ the soft one?”

“Nothing wrong with being soft.” 

“Unless you’re in a fight,” Tito says. “You can’t kiss your way to victory, man.” Laughing, Tito makes a move, tickling Mat’s sides this time. Almost immediately Mat squirms beneath his touch. He shifts, quickly, one knee slipping between Mat’s legs, the second pressed against his side.

“Hey!” Mat jerks one knee up, just missing Tito’s elbow. “That’s! No, stop it!” He wraps an arm around Tito’s, managing to lock it in place and almost out of instinct, Tito’s second arm stills, too.

Curiously, Tito gives his arms a light tug.

“Are you done tickling me?” Mat gives a warning look.

Smiling, Tito ponders the question. “Did I win?”

He doesn’t know who moves first, just that within seconds, their mouths connect. Tito’s fingers easily find their way threaded into Mat’s hair, a hand pressed to the back of his neck, encouraging him for more.

Victory, he decides, can be achieved through kissing after all.

Mat pulls him in, holds him tightly against his body and Tito closes his eyes, smiling into a kiss that’s warm and chocolate coated. If he had his way, he’d stay forever. With no job and little responsibility left, he’s pretty sure he just might.

..

Morning comes, soft light strewn across the bed. Tito feels a shift— the press of a second body and remembers the night well, kissing one another until they’re breathless, exhausted and moving became a chore. 

_Stay_ , he remembers whispering, face pressed against Mat’s chest. So stay he did.

“Morning.” Mat yawns, breath warm against Tito’s side. He looks vulnerable curled up beneath the sheets, hair flattened on one side.

Tito doesn’t bring it up— just observes, soaking in how nostalgic it makes him feel. Smiling, he shifts his weight to get a better look. “Morning. How do you feel?”

“Good,” Mat says. “Rested. You?”

“I feel,” Tito begins, searching for the right words. How _does_ he feel? Head over heels comes to mind. It doesn’t leave there. He grasps onto something safer instead. “Happy,” he decides. “Like kissing you some more.”

Mat agrees, with kisses instead of words, fitting into the space between Tito and the mattress— wedging himself dangerously close. It’s a different feeling than the night prior, still a good one that Tito wants to cling to. When Mat’s kisses slow, breaking away, Tito exhales.

“I could do that all day,” Mat admits with a small glint of worry behind his eyes that Tito can’t ignore.

Nervously, Tito questions it. “But?” 

“Don’t you think it’s better that you _remember_ first?” Mat brushes a thumb across Tito’s forearm.

He doesn’t remember Mat or hockey, really, at least not on command. Still, the thoughts that come— the memories that seem real— he knows they happened, existing _somewhere_. It’s an unfair thing for Mat to ask when Tito doesn’t think he’ll _actually_ remember.

“I didn’t hit my head and forget, Barzy,” Tito says with an exasperated sigh. “You know that.”

“I know.” Mat sits up, stone faced and Tito can’t help but wonder if he’s holding something back. He smiles, weakly, motioning to the shower. “I’m gonna hop in. We’ve got a day planned.”

“I know you want your friend back but despite everything, I kind of _like_ this life,” Tito admits, voice going softer. “Going back would mean undoing all of this— whatever _this_ is. I’m not ready for that.”

Mat gets as far as pulling back the sheets when he freezes, looking over.

Tito, knees pulled tightly to his chest shakes his head, out of words. He feels weak, even a bit silly for wanting different things, knowing that Mat doesn’t want him— Mat wants _his_ version of Tito— a version so strange and unknown.

The more he remembers, the harder it gets, feeling himself get attached in ways he can’t explain— knowing that sooner or later, it’s bound to end. Mat isn’t his. He never was.

“Hey, c’mon.” Mat crawls across the bed on the knees, cupping Tito’s face in his hands. “I know this is hard for both of us, not just me.”

Tito nods, instantly relaxing into Mat’s touch. Looking up, frowns. “I’m scared.”

“I know,” Mat says, brushing his thumb over Tito’s cheek. “I’d never admit it but waking up, seeing you were gone and hearing that no one knew who you were? _That_ scared the shit out of me. It’s why I didn’t stop. I had to find you.”

“But now what?” Tito inhales, willing himself not to cry. They’ll be friends no matter what, he reminds himself. Fate, he thinks, brought them together twice now. There’s no letting go.

“We don’t have to see anything else,” Mat says, opening his arms when Tito shifts, leaning against his chest. He’s gentle when he shifts, rubbing the small of Tito’s back softly. “I didn’t mean to push you.”

Tito inhales, exhales and slowly pulls himself together.

The thing is, he _likes_ being around Mat. Leaving doesn’t seem to be an option anymore.

“What did you have planned?” Tito tilts his head up, Mat’s chin brushing his cheek in the process. It’s accidental, mostly, but nice knowing that Mat’s not giving up on him nor letting go, arms tightening around him.

“Your apartment building has a room up for rent,” Mat says with a surprisingly brittle laugh. “I’m not surprised. You don’t live there now, obviously. But I thought you might want to see it.”

Tito bites his lip and thinks— _hard_. 

He doesn’t remember the apartment, just knows one exists— the memories of it blurry just on the edges of his mind. Seeing it will be hard, knowing that something will stir something up again. It’s scary and yet something that _isn’t_ Mat pushes him.

“Let’s go,” Tito decides.

“Are you… sure?” Mat gives Tito’s arm a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “Because it’s okay.”

“No, no,” Tito says, pulling himself out of Mat’s grasp. When he climbs out of bed, he misses Mat’s touch, almost longing for what he had— what he knows Mat had before all of this. “You don’t get it. I _have_ to. Tell them yes. I want to see my apartment building.”

The word _my_ seems to stick around in the back of his mind. It feels strange at first, but the more he runs over the word _my_ , adding in _apartment_ , telling himself it’s not just an apartment— it’s his… He believes it.

..

“How long are you looking to rent for?” The real estate broker is pleasant and smiling when she leads them into the apartment. It’s almost entertaining, Tito thinks, knowing that she’s oblivious to their game— if they’re calling it that.

“Few months,” Mat says before going off into some story, undoubtedly explaining the hockey schedule that Tito doesn’t fully understand. He doesn’t think they’re actually renting the place, so it doesn't matter all that much.

Still, he walks in and it feels warm— familiar even. Tito leaves Mat to talk, walking through the sitting room, chewing his bottom lip when that strange sense of nostalgia begins to bubble up again. He runs his hand along the back of the leather couch and doesn’t have to imagine what it’s like to fall asleep there— he already knows.

He’s lived _here_ — not just in this building— In this very apartment.

“It’s perfect,” Tito says without a second thought, stopping Mat mid-conversation.

“Yeah?” Mat laughs. “You haven’t even seen the kitchen.”

Tito knows he doesn’t have to, already picturing the kitchen where he would have spent so many mornings. Still, he plays the game and nods. “Right. Better go check that out.”

He walks along, smiling when he sees the bare front refrigerator. His fridge would have photos of his family and Tito’s pretty sure this one did.

Once fully inside of the kitchen, instantly pictures himself standing in front of the stove, flipping a pan of eggs while he hums. He takes a closer look, already knowing the inner workings of the strange stove, as if it’s been his all this time. It’s easy for Tito to get lost in his thoughts again, imaging the types of things he’s cooked for Mat— and apparently pretty well at that.

When he turns, looking over his shoulder, Mat is sitting at the table in what Tito _knows_ is his regular seat. He grins and Tito is brought back to the world where Mat spends the night, sometimes— when Tito wakes up early and serves breakfast with a proud smile.

“Scrambled eggs and avocado toast?” Tito turns to face the table, mock holding an invisible plate. “Bacon will be done shortly.” He takes a few steps, smiling and placing the non-existent plate in front of Mat.

“Avocado toast? That’s so millennial.” Mat raises an eyebrow, looking around. “And where’s my fork?”

“Oh, silly me,” Tito says, opening the drawer that muscle memory tells him holds his silverware. It’s empty, of course, but he still makes a point to pull out an invisible fork and pass it along to Mat who graciously accepts. “Here you go.”

Mat laughs, sitting up straight when the broker comes into the kitchen with some paperwork in hand.

Tito’s only slightly disappointed he doesn’t get to see just how much Mat would enjoy his pretend breakfast. He smiles when Mat lowers his hand, as if setting down the fake fork, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth in secret— their secret.

“If you’re interested,” the broker says, setting the papers down in front of Mat. “You’ll just have to fill out this form. You’re welcome to take your time and fax it in, but keep in mind this building rarely has openings. You might want to jump on it right away.”

Mat looks at the paperwork and then Tito, as if giving the go-ahead is his call.

“Can we have a minute to talk about this?” Tito can just about sense Mat’s fingers itching to pick up the pen and begin filling out the application.

“Of course,” the broker says, checking her watch. “I’ll be back in 10.”

“I can’t actually move here,” Tito says the minute the broker pulls out her phone and slips out of the room. He watches as Mat’s fingers inch along the bottom of the application, longing for a sense of normality, whatever that may be. Normal is no longer spending his days selling coffee— it’s staying still, suspended in Mat’s presence— jobless, homeless and just plain _lost_.

Mat stands with a sigh, resting his hand against Tito’s shoulder. “You can do anything you want now. You’re not obligated to stay in one place.”

Tito doesn’t think he can do _anything_. Finding a new job in a city he hardly knows is easier said than done— flying home and begging for his boss to give him his job back sounds like a much more viable option.

“I can’t afford it.” Tito remembers looking at apartments in Montreal, face blanking when he read the price tag. He can only imagine how much more one would cost just outside of New York City.

Mat shrugs, picking up the pen. Tito doesn’t think Mat would be so bold as to begin the application without coming to an agreement, but then, without hesitation, he begins to write.

“What— Barzy, I can’t.” Tito looks down at the paper, stomach flipping when it isn’t his name on the paper— it’s Mat’s. Suddenly, he’s never wanted anything more. “Wait, you’re stealing my apartment?”

“You don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to,” Mat says, signing his name. “But I need somewhere to stay that isn’t a basement.”

“The kids love you though.” Tito hears himself speak, voice sounding far away, as if it belonged to someone else— a different version of himself, he realizes. He’s never asked Mat about his living arrangements, just assumed that as an athlete, he had a place of his own. Mat’s never mentioned kids, and yet a distant memory, one full of loud, happy kids seem to flicker in the back of his mind. “You lived with kids?”

“Yeah, Seids’ kids.” Mat sets the pen down, slow to turn. “But they weren’t the problem. They were respectful. Just kinda hard to, you know, be young and live my best life when there’s kids everywhere.”

Tito laughs, knowing he’s had to have met them, names and faces still a mystery to him. He can almost picture a young girl, running and tumbling across a basement, showing off her gymnastic skills with great pride— Tito clapping and Mat, with an eye roll, taking him by the arm with a _c’mon, we’re going to be late_.

“Do you remember anything else?” Mat stands and just like that, he’s a bit taller and slightly closer to Tito. They don’t touch, though Tito almost wishes they were.

“Sneaking in really late.” Tito laughs. It’s not something he, like many other flashbacks, has a full recollection of, just a few minor details that he’s able to easily piece together. “Did they have dogs?”

Mat shudders and then, as if seeking comfort, shifts enough so that his arm is subtly pressed to Tito’s. He shakes his head— not to deny Tito’s question, but to, with slightly reluctance, confirm he’s right. “Those things were the fucking worst.”

“Well,” Tito says, exhaling, because it’s weird and exhausting to keep remembering things you’ve never actually done. “At least now you have a place to yourself.”

“ _We_ have a place.” Mat leans in, eyes softening and it takes all Tito has not to kiss him.

He thinks about how kissing Mat made him feel before— heart racing, limbs weakened by what felt so right. Still, kissing Mat in exchange for a place to stay seems wrong, regardless of how must faster his heart begins to beat the second Mat’s fingertips brush across his cheek. 

“We?” Tito asks when he finally finds the courage, voice low and the only thing keeping him from pulling Mat into a bruising kiss.

“We,” Mat repeats, softer— _closer_.

Their mouths meet, just barely, Tito making a small sound when Mat tugs him forward. Mat’s lips are soft against his, sending a jolt down Tito’s spine when he reciprocates what feels like so much more than a kiss. Mat steps in, moving with him and Tito’s back bumps the high table, knocking the pen onto the floor.

He ignores it, only to be interrupted far too soon by the clicking of heels on the hardwood floor. 

“All set I take it?” The broker clears her throat, likely having seen them move apart, Mat smoothing down the front of his shirt. Tito, cheeks warm and almost a bit embarrassed looks to Mat for answers.

Mat is quick on his feet, paperwork already in hand. He hands it over to her, smile wide and charming. “I’ll take it.”

“Great,” she says, shaking his hand, smiling at the two of them once they’ve reached the front door. “We’ll be in touch.”

..

Outside of the apartment feels a little less overwhelming without the flashbacks and choices and Mat’s hands on him. He doesn’t want Mat to buy him apartment— he can find himself a job— _if_ (and it’s a big _if_ ) Tito decides to stay in the city.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Tito says, walking next to Mat, arms swinging slightly. He’s careful not to bump him, knowing he’ll likely lose all self control should Mat lean into him again.

“I told you,” Mat turns slightly as they walk, smile not fooling anybody. “I needed a place to stay.”

 _Drop it_ , Tito tells himself, mouth half-opened when he’s ready to argue.

“So there’s really one more place I needed to show you today,” Mat says, motioning towards the LIRR station. 

Tito wrinkles his nose when they reach the ticketing booth. “Another train? We’ve done this.”

“Not the train,” Mat says with a sigh, handing Tito a ticket. “Barclays.”

“Oh.” Tito falls silent, looking down at his ticket. He still doesn’t understand the public transportation of New York City— doesn’t think he will anytime soon and doesn’t care. He’s not going to need to know how to get to Barclays, anyway.

Mat’s face falls slightly and Tito instantly feels pretty bad. The apartment was a lot, as Tito had expected— Barclays, he _knows_ , will be a lot more.

“We can go another day,” Mat says quickly, turning away from the train station. He holds out his hand for Tito’s ticket, but Tito isn’t passing it back.

“No.” He pulls his hand back, holding the ticket to his chest. It’s not an expensive ticket, but Tito isn’t about to let Mat just throw it away. When the train pulls up, Tito knows he’s got a few seconds to make his decision. “We can,” Tito begins, finding himself taking another deep breath.

“We’ll start slow,” Mat says when the board the train, letting Tito in by the window. “You can see the outside and if that’s enough, cool, we’ll call it a day and go get something to eat.”

“What if I want to go inside?” Tito doesn’t think he does just yet.

Shrugging, Mat smiles and the doors close. “Then we’ll go in.”

It’s a quiet ride, Tito finding his head on Mat’s shoulder, reluctant to move when they make it to Jamaica station. He remembers this part of the ride from their trip to Catch, but knows this is where it all changes. 

“C’mon,” Mat says, leading the way with a hand against the small of Tito’s back. “We’re transferring over here.”

They wait for what Tito thinks must be forever, hating the idea of having to do something like this for a living. He imagines it has to be even harder when you’ve got hockey gear to transport. When the train finally does arrive, it’s busier than the station itself and they’re forced to sit at one end, legs squished together.

“How the hell do you get all of your sticks and shit on here?” Tito left, then right— even up, trying to figure it all out.

“We don’t always. Some guys drive it in,” Mat says with a laugh.

He can’t imagine it— driving in Brooklyn. “That sounds like a bitch.”

“It _is_ a bitch,” Mat agrees with a grin. This time, it’s Mat’s turn to rest his head against Tito.

Tito smiles, turning his head slightly with a happy sigh. If anyone’s looking, they don’t seem to care. He almost forgets where it is they’re heading until they’re minutes away and the conductor breaks him out of a daydream by announcing the Atlantic Terminal.

“We’re here,” Tito says, pretty sure he can _feel_ the intensity of being in so close proximity to such an important building down to his bones. 

“Just about.” Mat hops up from his seat, following Tito out, through the terminal and on to the street. He stays close, not pushing ahead and Tito quickly figures out that Mat’s testing him. 

They stop, together, on the pavement, Tito looking out onto the street for the first time. He can’t see Barclays, just knows that it’s not far. He tugs Mat’s arm, instinctively taking a left and it’s only a few steps before the oddly familiar, turf-covered building comes into view.

“How do you keep doing this?” Mat laughs once they cross and stop in front of the building, Tito looking up to take it all in. “Now you’re just fucking with me.”

“What?” Tito crosses his arms over his chest, suddenly not at all interested in seeing the inside. He knows it’s summer and probably just full of basketball anyway. Nothing that’ll remind him of who he’s supposed to be. “I didn’t even know this— know _you_ weeks ago. How would I be fucking with you?”

Mat sighs, shaking his head, quick to recover. “No I— look, I know you’re telling the truth. Obviously. None of my friends even know who you are. But I know what I know and you know I’m not bullshitting you. It’s just— are you sure you can’t play hockey?”

“I can’t even skate,” Tito shoots back, a little annoyed. “And no, I’m not trying so don’t think you can force me into something else, too.”

“Force you?” Mat’s laugh isn’t a happy one. It’s harsh, cutting, and leaves Tito feeling even worse about his uncertainty of being there. “I _told you_ we didn’t have to go in. You saw it, whatever, let’s just go.”

“You act like this is easy,” Tito says back, just as harsh. “I was happy with my life. Now I don’t even know who I am. Seeing this— _feeling_ these things… it’s a lot. I told _you_.” He looks down, fists that he didn’t even realize were clenched white at the knuckles. It’s in his instincts to flee— to find somewhere he can be alone and finally break down, but Tito knows he’s stronger than that. Had he been a hockey player— a real one, not just one in Mat’s mind— he wouldn’t give up and he’ll be damned if he does now.

Mat chews on his bottom lip, shifting weight between his feet. It’s tough on Tito, but he knows it’s probably equally difficult, if not worse, for Mat. Mat lost his best friend.

“Look, I—” Tito begins.

“I’m sorry,” they say in unison and it’s enough to calm Tito down, smile slight.

“This is the big one,” Mat says, motioning towards Barclays. “So I get it if you don’t want to go in there. You were right the other day when you said it wouldn’t change anything.”

Tito’s heart pounds within his chest. “It already has.” 

“What?” Mat tilts his head and Tito winces, feeling the hurt behind his eyes.

“My life changed the day you showed up,” Tito says, voice softening. He still wants to run— away, but also towards Mat, because something holds him there, forcing him to follow through with it all— something tells him Mat’s important— Mat’s _his_. So, as hard as it is to face what he doesn’t know, Tito, though terrified, steps forward. “Let’s go in.” 

Mat holds his hand out, silent in the process and Tito obliges, letting Mat take him around to the team entrance. It’s strange— almost funny at first, a special entrance not even crossing Tito’s mind. Someone, security presumedly, nods when Mat walks by and Tito stays close.

Tito knew he couldn’t just walk right into Barclays without any credentials, especially when his name isn’t actually up in any of the stalls. With Mat, it’s easy. There’s no questions and within minutes, Tito finds himself heading towards the Islanders locker room.

He pictures what his would look like, jersey hanging behind him before a big game, name embroidered across the back. It makes him smile, until he, at Mat’s heels, actually enters the locker room. Like most memories, this one hits him hard— maybe the hardest yet.

He pictures this one clear as day. They’re down 0-4 and Tito sits at his bench, toweling off his wet hair. Mat isn’t talking to him, because he did something stupid— missing a pass, he thinks, not that it matters. One goal is just that. The feeling that comes over him isn’t a nice one. He’s disappointed, though not at the team itself— in himself, maybe, in the situation as a whole. 

When Mat tugs off his jersey and looks at him, he can _feel_ the defeat behind his eyes.

“We’ll come back,” Tito hears himself say. “I got you.”

The thing is, they don’t.

Tito can’t see their faces, but knows they’re all just as disappointed to be going home scoreless.

“Here’s where I sit,” Mat says, snapping Tito back to reality.

He lifts his head and looks at the now empty stall. “There’s nothing there.”

“Yeah, we take our stuff home for the summer.” Mat laughs, sitting. “So I’d like, sit here on game days, just listening to my music. We didn’t always take the same way in so usually we’d just meet up here.”

Tito nods, thinking about his ride in to the city— how strange it must be to take public transportation somewhere where people could potentially recognize you. The thought of young kids approaching, shy but running back to their parents with an excited yell when he signs something, or someone in a team jersey fist bumping him before his stop makes him smile, forgetting how easily delays or drunk and unruly passengers could make the commute terrible.

“Then what do we do?” Tito asks, picturing himself walking in dressed head to toe, suit and tie— better than he thinks he’s dressed in his entire life. He imagines them laughing, Mat’s arm around his neck in a mock headlock as guys pile into the room, hooting and hollering. Tito doesn’t know what it’s like to be on a team, but standing near center of the locker room, just about feels as if he is.

“We change,” Mat says simply, smiling. “Then we win games.”

“Not all of them,” Tito responds with a short laugh. “I know we weren’t the best.”

“At winning games, no, I guess not, but,” Mat says, smile still faint. “We were pretty great together.”

“We still are,” Tito decides. He’s knows he’s no hockey player— he’s barely more than a barista in his world. When Mat stands, slow and moving towards him, Tito knows, in someone else’s world, he’s so much more. 

This time, he doesn’t hold back when Mat leans in, cupping his face with a laugh so happy he could cry. They kiss, slowly at first, picking up speed when Mat’s arm curls around his waist. It’s then, Mat warm and gentle against his body, that Tito realizes his place isn’t selling coffee for minimum wage. It’s not hockey, but it _is_ New York— it’s riding the train, it’s living in a small apartment— it’s Mat.

Tito is happy. Tito is content. Tito is _home_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Tito is still fast asleep when Mat wakes up, the sound of his breathing like soft, calming lullaby. He stirs, just slightly, and Mat watches as his face relaxes again with a long, content sigh when he finds comfort in his new position.

Mat doesn’t have to be awake before the sun, knowing far too well most of his teammates are still asleep. He likes to get to the rink early— to be the one who has first crack at fresh, flawless ice. 

Tito hums low in his sleep, messy hair that he hasn’t bothered to cut in awhile falling to one side. He’s content— Mat is, too— to run his fingers through the top of Tito’s soft, slightly curled hair and stay there all day.

Then his alarm goes off, again, and he knows he can’t.

“Stay in bed,” Tito whispers, not bothering to open his eyes.

“Can’t today, bud.” Mat almost wishes he would— he loves his eyes, gentle and easy to get lost in. It’s probably for the best he doesn’t open them, Mat decides, when he slips out of bed. He’ll never make it to practice then.

He finds a wrinkled shirt, sniffs it and pulls it on over his head. It doesn’t matter too much when there’s clean clothes in his bag.

“I’ll be back for lunch,” Mat says, lifting his hockey bag over his shoulder. 

“Wait,” Tito says, voice scratchy. He reaches blindly for the night stand, retrieving his glasses in the near-dark. When he sits up and slips them on, he smiles, sleepily.

“What?” Mat brackets himself against the doorframe, watching as Tito’s slow to rise. 

Tito’s steps are slow and quiet across the hardwood floor, stopping in front of Mat to cover a yawn with the back of his hand. Mat’s not sure why Tito reaches for him, letting his hand be tugged— their fingers intertwining easily. 

“Can I say goodbye?” Tito looks down at their hands— Mat does, too— and squeezes.

“Goodbye?” Mat laughs, feeling like his insides are all jumbled up. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“No,” Tito says, leaning forward with purpose until he’s just inches away from Mat’s face. When Mat’s sure Tito has something else to say, lips parting, Tito moves in more, pressing his mouth firmly against Mat’s. 

It’s as good as kisses can be— better, Mat thinks, when Tito tilts his head to the side, Mat falling into a rhythm so soft and sweet. He’s pretty sure Tito’s still smiling, through kisses, arms around his waist and pulling their bodies tightly together. The weight of the bag at Mat’s shoulder almost becomes too much, weighing him down, but then Tito presses a palm against the small of his back, sighs into the kiss and fuck it, Mat decides.

He breaks the kiss, briefly, to drop his bag, cupping Tito’s face. When he looks down, he doesn’t kiss him again, yet, caught up in his eyes, so bright and sleepy behind slightly fogged glasses. Mat can’t help but smile— laugh, even, when he’s pretty sure he’s looking at the entire damned universe just sitting there in the palm of his hands.

Tito, the universe— it’s all the same to Mat, all his for the taking. So, he’ll be late, just this once, he decides, when he kisses Tito again, taking what’s his.

Mat lives a fast paced life. He doesn't remember a time he hasn't been caught up in training and traveling. Tito smiles into a gentle kiss turned passionate, hands pulling Mat down and Mat, pliant, follows along with Tito's silent demands.

“Is this okay?” Tito pulls at the bottom of Mat's wrinkled shirt, looking pleased with himself once it’s discarded on the floor.

It's more than okay, Mat thinks, nodding instead. He looks down, focused on Tito’s fingertips at his chest, blinking through the need to shiver. Neither kissing nor the intimate closeness are new to Mat— the want, the _need_ are.

There’s a fine line Mat finds himself teetering on, having done plenty with Tito in the past, though this— Tito’s hands moving slowly, mouth warm and wet at Mat’s neck— is bordering something new. 

Tito sighs, warm and content into the crook of Mat’s neck. They waste no time, shedding their clothes, Mat’s back pressing into the mattress when Tito straddles his waist. He kisses the hollow of Mat’s neck, Mat sighing, back arching, heart speeding up.

“You’re good at this,” Mat mumbles, head turning, muffled against Tito’s shoulder. His fingers find their way in Tito’s short hair, moving down to rest at the base of his neck.

“Up.” Tito pushes Mat’s legs at the knee and one by one they bend easily, Tito fitting in between. Mat doesn’t see it, just hears the click of a cap and knows what’s next. Slightly cold fingers press into him with a slow, satisfying burn. When Mat’s breath hitches, Tito freezes.

Mat exhales with a shuddering breath, eyes opening just to stare Tito down. “Keep. Going.”

Tito nods meekly, adding a finger, twisting, pushing and pulling until Mat is panting and pliant beneath him. He dips his fingers once more, curling them just enough to elicit low, satisfying moan and Mat’s hips jerk up in response.

When Tito shifts, Mat catches a glimpse of the clock— still plenty of time. He doesn’t focus on it long, distracted by the way Tito’s hand slides down his chest, fingers hooking over his hip bone.

“C’mon,” Mat says softly, urging, arching up, palms pressing into Tito’s shoulders. It doesn’t take much convincing to get what he wants— Tito is quick to comply, pushing in with the lowest of moans.

It starts slow, hips rising, falling and meeting in the middle, Mat gasping when Tito’s hips snap down and he picks up speed. Time seems to stop and Mat’s certain they’ll stay like this, pressed together, all day, until Tito’s voice comes through.

“Close,” Tito mumbles after what has to be awhile.

“More,” Mat whispers, urging him on, despite never wanting it to end. His thighs tighten and burn with each push and pull and it’s a feeling that he’s grown to love, hooking a leg around Tito to get exactly what he wants, cursing under his breath when Tito gives him just that.

Breath ragged, hands strewn all over and Mat quickly forgets he’s supposed to be anywhere else but there. He moves a hand up Tito’s back, nails blunt against his shoulder, mumbling and coercing him into moving faster, _harder_ until they’re both sloppy and chasing one similar goal.

“Fuck, I’m coming.” Tito’s hand slips between them, wrapping around to stroke Mat, hips jerking down, bumping Mat in a way that he knows will bruise. Tito makes another sound, low and pleased when he finally does come, Mat’s world as he knows it getting fuzzy at the edges.

Then it all goes white.

When Mat looks at the clock again, an hour has passed and Tito is propped up on the bed, glasses crooked and hair a little messier than before. He’s not _late_ , but he’s not exactly going to be the first one there either, and it’s okay because Tito smiles at him, butterflies filling his insides and for once, fuck it if the ice isn’t fresh when he skates— he’s taking chances, he’s getting his best friend back, he’s… 

… in love.

“Don’t forget you owe me lunch,” Tito says, lips lingering against Mat’s with a grin.

It’s hard to pull away but in the end, Mat does. “Deal.”

He spends his morning doing drills on the ice, doing his best to focus on anything that isn’t Tito. The last time he stepped out on the ice at Northwell, Tito wasn’t far behind, chirping him for the piece of tape that somehow got stuck to the back of his jersey.

Though he can’t prove it, he’s still pretty sure Tito’s the one who put it there.

As he skates around the net and slaps the puck towards the net, he knows he’s distracted— wincing when the puck collides with the goal post in a loud clang.

 _Focus_ , he tells himself over and over until his shots are clean. Tito _doesn’t_ leave his thoughts, though he learns to stop looking over his shoulder. Tito isn’t on the ice, Tito is at home— their home— waiting for him.

..

“I’m back,” Mat yells when he pushes through the door, dropping his bag nearby. He thinks twice about it, then picks the bag up, knowing Tito isn’t fond of him throwing things around like it’s a dorm room. It’s a bad habit, but one he’s trying to work on… gradually, anyway. 

Tito doesn’t answer and Mat can’t help but laugh, slipping into the still dark bedroom. Curtains drawn shut, he’s pretty sure Tito fell back asleep after he left. Mat tiptoes across the floor, biting his lip when it creaks beneath his weight. When Tito doesn’t budge, Mat thinks he’s won.

Carefully, Mat crawls into bed, reaches over and… 

Nothing. 

Tito _isn’t_ Tito— he’s replaced by pillows and a folded blanket that Mat _swore_ was Tito, fast asleep… waiting for him, like he promised.

He doesn't think Tito would run, but maybe this time he got cold feet— maybe his goodbye in the morning meant just that…

 _Goodbye_.

“Fuck,” is the first word to come out of Mat’s mouth, chest tight when he realizes he’s lost Tito again. 

He stands up quickly, room spinning and takes in the belongings that are scattered about— less his and more Tito’s. There’s a hat on the chair— one he thought he’d initially lost, having left at Tito’s months ago.

It’s a strange revelation— one that comes fast, like a speeding freight train. This isn’t _their_ apartment, it’s Tito’s. Mat makes his way through the apartment, checking for things he knows were there yesterday— his toothbrush, food he’d left in the fridge, some clothing— all _gone_.

Mat thinks back to the morning, Tito’s kisses and his goodbye, wondering if he knew. He picks up a yellow hoodie that he distinctly knows belongs to Tito and knows it’s no coincidence. It’s the same one Tito bought last season on a day Mat remembers well.

It was early November, a morning when the weather was more forgiving, when practice ended and Mat, still feeling antsy and full of energy, dragged Tito into the city for some shopping. The two of them walked side by side, finding themselves along Madison Avenue. He doesn’t remember the conversation, just Tito’s laugh when he realized he’d spent more than Mat.

“Do you think yellow is okay?” Tito had held up the hoodie in front of himself, unsure.

Mat remembers hating yellow and it’s bright, obnoxious tones that look awkward on his own body. Then he meets Tito’s eyes, bright and surrounded by a color that reminds Mat of the sun and it just seems… right. 

Yellow is happy, yellow is positive. Yellow is Tito.

“It’s perfect,” Mat decides, smiling. “You should get it.”

Then, when Tito smiles, brighter than ever, Mat feels justified, watching as the boy before him transforms into something warm and happy. He’s pretty sure that if humans were capable of taking on such things, Tito would have just _become_ the sun.

The front door clicks. It’s something Mat hardly registers, turning the hoodie over in his hands. The last time he had seen it was just before Denmark, Tito throwing it over his shoulder after having packed up the last of his essentials for the summer. 

“Really, Barzy?” Tito says with a long, somewhat irritated sigh. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Mat’s head whips up upon hearing Tito’s voice, knowing that for some reason, he’s annoyed, but he’s _there_ and that’s something Mat can easily smooth over later. “You’re here? Where did you go?”

“Where did _you_ go?” Tito drops a bag in the corner and Mat’s stomach drops. “You left me at the rink, asshole.”

“Wait, what?” Mat blinks, slow, trying to process what Tito’s saying. If it’s a joke, it’s not very funny. He laughs, anyway, too full of disbelief.

“First you ditch me and then— why are you in my apartment?” Tito raises an eyebrow, looking at the yellow hoodie in Mat’s hand. “Are you… stealing my stuff?”

“No,” Mat says quickly, handing it over. “I just— how long has this been your apartment?”

Tito wrinkles his nose, head shaking like he’s heard it all. “Two years and a few months? And what does that have to do with anything?”

“Okay,” Mat says slowly, exhaling. He watches as Tito looks over the hoodie, then tosses it onto the back of his couch.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you today, but it’s weird.” Tito’s annoyance seems to fade away, expression changing to one of concern. “We’re like, days away from preseason so maybe pull yourself together?”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Mat nods, stomach sick. Just that morning he was kissing Tito, making plans for lunch and ready to dive into a new season with his best friend no longer his winger or teammate but his potential live-in boyfriend instead. He knew it would be a tough change, used to turning on the ice and shouting for Tito to pass the puck. Months without it and weeks of learning to change didn’t make things easier— he still wished for it. Still, Tito was his and knowing that wasn’t a complete loss.

Until he lost that, too.

Tito sighs, pacing his apartment and Mat knows why. He thinks Tito is, again, the one to drive them to and from practice. He’s the one to convince them to grill some chicken or cook some pasta after practice when Mat just wants to go out and explore the city.

Tito looks at him and for the first time in awhile, Mat sees a stranger.

..

Mat knows, in retrospect, he should have explained things to Tito— that he’s a good listener, even when Mat spouts nonsense. Still, telling Tito that things changed— that he _disappeared_ months ago when Tito was still reeling after being left behind at the rink just seemed stupid.

So Mat, defeated, left.

As he walked down the block, phone void of any new texts, Mat did his best not to panic. Tito’s apartment was still that— Tito’s— empty of all that may have belonged to him. He knows he should have casually mentioned Seidenberg, just to see if that’s where belongings were still housed. Without a car, Mat shoved his hands into his pockets and ventured down the street towards the familiar path that would lead him there. 

Rebecca answers the door with a smile. “Thought you and Anthony were getting lunch?”

“Yeah, not today,” Mat says, trying his best to smile back. He knows she won’t buy it. Rebecca is intuitive— like a bloodhound for emotions or something that even Seids says is impossible to escape. One way or another, he’ll be coerced into talking about his feelings.

“Hm,” Rebecca hums. “Well I’m just about finished with lunch. I’m sure the kids will be happy you’re home.”

 _Home_ , he thinks. Despite he and Tito’s discussions of sharing an apartment for the new season, that seemingly hasn’t changed, though he knew that just by looking around Tito’s place. Mat wasn’t erased— he just never moved in.

“Mat!” One of the kids shrieks and suddenly he’s got one of each side, smiling and clinging to him like he’s been gone for ages.

Rebecca laughs and Mat has to just about shuffle across the kitchen to reach the table. He knows he hasn’t been gone— not in their world, anyway— based by the welcome back homework that’s still on the table. There’s some paper next to it with his own handwriting on it. It’s something he knows he didn’t do— that he didn’t go anywhere. It was Tito who went missing. Not him.

Suddenly Mat freezes.

“Leave him alone,” Rebecca says with a sigh and just like that, the children disperse. “They act like you’ve been gone for three weeks, not three hours.”

“What are they going to do when I move out?” Mat swallows— hard— hoping that this is something they’ve discussed before. 

“We haven’t told them we might be moving yet,” Rebecca says sharply, voice low. It surprises Mat, though he knew there was a chance Dennis wouldn’t be making the team this year, no solid contract on the table. “Not until we know how his tryout goes.” 

Mat nods slowly. He thinks it’s kind of bullshit that a veteran who’s made the team and played for years is forced into a PTO, but Mat also knows it’s a business— one that can and will change at the blink of an eye.

There’s some things he knows happened despite feeling his world shift around him. Tavares is gone as well as some other minor roles— Quine, Prince… a few guys that he got along with well enough, though not as well as Tito. He wonders if that changed the apartment situation— if Tito isn’t ready for a roommate when the few friends who moved in and out seasons prior have all seemed to leave quietly. 

“I hope you two can stay,” Mat says quietly, knowing that regardless, he won’t. “I was talking about Tito though. We’ve been thinking about getting an apartment.”

“Oh?” Rebecca purses her lips, eye sightly wide like it’s news to her.

“I mean we’ve discussed it,” Mat begins.

“Well I’m not surprised.” Rebecca tilts her head towards a cupboard, smiling again. “Mind setting the table before I call the calvary back in?” 

Mat does as he’s told, setting plates and silverware around the table. He’s presented with grilled chicken and salad and feels blessed to be living somewhere with a family who just _gets it_. He eats and laughs when the children skip the salad, dipping their grilled “nuggets” into ranch dressing. He remembers those days before the NHL, living off of Chipotle and avoiding most green things that weren’t avocado— shrugging when his teammates knew his order by heart. 

A _what’s going on_ text comes through after lunch, sometime in between Mat washing and putting away the dishes. He isn’t surprised to see a text from Tito. Weirdness aside, they’re still friends.

He means to answer, really, but then his phone rings and it’s Dante on FaceTime— Dante who, the last Mat knew, was pleased to hear Mat found Tito, despite not knowing who he was. It’s easier, he thinks, to open up about the weird things in his life to Dante and so after he slides the last clean plate back into its spot in the cupboard, he answers.

“Hey,” Mat says, quietly excusing himself. It’s loud wherever Dante is and Mat can only assume he’s already back at BU for the semester. “Start skating with your team yet?”

“Yep.” Dante grins and Mat can see that’s he’s moving, likely looking for some place quieter. When the noise around him seems further away, he speaks again. “I have to ask you something and it’s kind of weird, but it’s been driving me crazy.”

Mat just about drops his phone. “About Tito?”

“Yeah,” Dante begins, looking confused. “How did you know?”

“He disappeared. I went after him.” Mat can feel his heart begin to race, his thoughts all jumbling together. Maybe Mat had it wrong all of this time. Maybe _technically_ Tito never went anywhere— _he_ did.

Dante’s quick to confirm. “No,” he laughs. “He called me. After your birthday. Said you just… left. And he— when he found you back in New York, acting like you didn’t know what he was talking about, he was pretty upset, man. He made me promise not to tell you.”

“So you’re telling me about it,” Mat says, thankful for Dante’s penchant for gossiping. “But c’mon, you know I wouldn’t do that to him. I might be stupid but I’m not an asshole. I didn’t leave. _He_ did.”

“That’s the stupid thing.” Dante laughs despite not looking like any of this is funny. “I have all of these stupid scenarios in my head, none of which, as far as I know, actually happened.”

“What’s real?” Mat has to ask because he doesn’t quite know.

“He came out for your birthday but he didn’t disappear. You were supposed to drive him to the airport. But then all of these scenarios popped into my head, you looking for him, him looking for you— it was wild. It was always one of you looking for the other,” Dante says, voice softening. “Did you ever think that maybe that’s the answer?”

“Tito?” Mat laughs. He’s had Tito before, had him again in that universe shift and is pretty sure he still has him. If he has to spend his life unknowingly bouncing between universes then Mat’s fine with that— as long as he has Tito. 

“Yeah.” Dante inhales, bringing the phone closer to his face. “Hear me out, okay?”

Mat has plenty of questions, mouth half-opened to ask one when he’s interrupted.

“Questions at the end of class,” Dante says and Mat’s mouth’s closes. “So you had him disappear, but you found him, right?”

Mat nods his head, because yeah, he _did_ find Tito— a little bit timid and a whole lot curious. It wasn’t Mat’s ideal world, having lost his closest teammate, but in the process he gained so much more— he opened up, giving his heart to Tito, getting Tito’s affection in return.

“Maybe there’s a reason for all of this.” Dante pauses, then raises an eyebrow. “Do you know how impossible it is to find someone when you have zero clues? That’s like some fate bullshit coming into play here and you know it. I remember reading something once about how we find ourselves in strange situations until we fulfil our destiny. It sounds crazy, but maybe finding Tito and keeping him _is_ your fate.”

 _Fate_ , Mat thinks, heart dropping when he remembers he hadn’t texted Tito back.

“I have to go,” Mat says after that sudden realization. “He already thought I was crazy this morning and now he probably thinks I’m ghosting him or something.”

“You are crazy,” Dante responds with a pleased grin. “Talk to you later man.”

“See ya.” Mat hits end, lowers his phone and is frantic in opening his texts. There’s two more from Tito— one asking _where the hell are you_ , the second, three smiling poop emojis. He doesn’t seem mad, Mat thinks, when he texts him back with a _just finished lunch, dinner later?_

Tito is quick to send him the eye rolling emoji and then:

 _Bored… come back_.

So Mat, against his better judgement, grabs his keys and goes.

..

“Are you done acting like a crazy person?” Tito opens the door to his apartment and nothing’s changed from earlier. He’s still the same hockey-playing Tito that Mat knew before the weirdest summer of his life.

“Uh,” Mat stutters, stepping inside. “Yeah, sorry. Didn’t sleep much last night,” he lies.

“We’re getting oysters tonight,” Tito says with a grin. “And wine. I want a bottle of wine.” It’s not an unusual request coming from Tito, though usually they only order that type of meal when friends or family visit, or, on the rare occasion, when celebration is in order. 

“What are we celebrating?” Mat scratches the back of his neck. He knows that last season was pretty terrible. With a new GM and new coach comes a entirely new set of rules. He also knows that changes aside, he’s no longer a rookie. Mistakes he made last year won’t fly this time around. It’s his time to step up, or so the fans and media seem to continuously drill into his mind. 

“New season, bro,” Tito says, patting Mat on the back. “You’re not a kid anymore.”

Mat rolls his eyes fondly. “You might have a year on me but I’m still older than you.”

“By like what, two weeks?” Tito laughs, shaking his head. “It was better you debuted last season. Kicked my ass into gear _and_ won you a trophy. It’s like it was fate.”

Mat freezes when he hears the word again.

 _Fate_.

Meeting Tito at fourteen, greeting him with a half-assed _bon matin_ — it might have been fate. It set the ball rolling on their friendship and made the countless competitions easier when Mat saw that familiar smile.

It wasn’t fate, really. It was just _hockey_.

Hockey, as Mat has always known, became more than one familiar face— all of them searching for coveted gold medals. Tito was always there to lend an ear or support his team, even through a broken arm. Mat remembers it all too well, helping Tito dress, raising the trophy with him, holding him when they both laughed and consoling Tito when he apologized for not contributing in the end.

 _Once a teammate, always a teammate_ , Mat remembers telling him.

 _Fate_ , Mat realizes, is being drafted to the same team just twelve picks apart. 

“Do you remember draft day?” Mat watches as Tito’s face lights up.

“God,” Tito says, laughing softly. “I’ve watched the video enough. How could I forget?”

Mat knows Tito doesn’t remember it the way he did— Mat’s family celebrating his high pick, taking photos and not letting him go. Mat was excited, he was proud, but he was also curious. He wasn’t sure who else the Islanders would draft, just hoped it was someone he’d mesh with.

His mother called him, media waiting and Mat was hustled along and then, as fate would have it, he heard it announced loud and clear:

_The Islanders are proud to select from Shawinigan, Anthony Beauvillier._

Mat remembers turning around, trying to go back— to see Tito take the stage and pull on that jersey, only to be pulled in the other direction because he has an interview. It isn’t until he’s finished, heading back down the hall when he sees Tito running in the opposite direction.

It’s a brief encounter, Tito surprised— shocked even— upon seeing Mat’s face in a matching jersey. He remembers Tito launching himself at him, hugging and laughing in what was an unlikely circumstance turned real in a twist of fate. Someone, Tito’s mom, Mat thinks, gently prods them together, requesting a photo of her son and his new teammate. It’s fast— too fast— when Tito is whisked away for his own interview, promising to text.

He doesn’t— not right away, anyway. Not until the hype of being drafted seems to have died down and they settle back into their own lives.

“I don’t think I’ll ever forget that day,” Mat admits, watching when Tito’s eyes seems to shift from a shade of grey to a bright, sparkling blue.

“You know,” Tito says, smiling. “It’s kind of stupid but sometimes, when I’m alone… it’s silly, but I watch my draft video.”

“You do?” Mat finds himself transfixed on Tito’s eyes— on the way his cheeks seem to pinken, perhaps a little embarrassed by his confession. 

“I told you it was stupid.” Tito looks away, briefly, as if to catch his composure. 

“No, not at all.” Mat says, never once looking away. “It meant a lot to you.”

“It still does.” Tito looks back, smiling again. “It reminds me how lucky I am— how lucky _we_ are. This could change at any minute. Do you realize that?”

“Yeah.” Mat nods. What he knows— what Tito doesn’t— is that Tito _has_ lost this once before in a world so unknown to him. “More than you think.”

Tito pauses, then frowns. “They wouldn’t send you to the AHL.”

“They aren’t sending you either,” Mat reminds him, because while anything is possible… “They aren’t,” he repeats, nudging Tito’s shoulder to shake his frown away. He has faith in Tito, he knows what Tito is capable of and he most definitely isn’t giving him up again. 

“God,” Tito says, shaking his hands, fingertips and all, shoulders rolling back like he’s getting every last bit of the jitters out. “So can we move on from being all sentimental and shit and play some video games or something? I need to blow something up like… now.” 

Mat looks through the games and while he doesn’t play them often anymore, wonders why they had even stopped. He’s not the best at the shooting games and quite frankly, doesn’t _need_ to blow things up to get his aggression out. That’s what hockey is for. 

In the end, Tito picks the game and Mat, entirely uninterested, loses each round.

“Stop letting me win,” Tito says with a groan, setting down the controller after another easy win.

“You wanted to blow something up.” Mat shrugs, waving his controller. “You did. Like seven times.”

“You _let_ _me_ win,” Tito repeats, reaching over to make a grab for Mat’s controller.

Mat pulls back, but he’s too slow, Tito’s pinky brushing the side of his hand when he grips the end of the controller. His first instinct is to pull away, letting Tito win— again, but then Tito laughs, hand dropping and Mat finds he misses Tito’s, though brief, gentle touch.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Tito’s brows furrow, focused on Mat.

“Yeah,” Mat lies, quickly, his stomach twisting into knots when Tito sees right through him.

“C’mere.” Tito’s arms wrap around Mat’s shoulders, pulling him into a tight, warming hug. He closes his eyes— just for a moment— letting Tito hold him there until he’s able to shake it off, reminding himself that this is what he wanted all along.

“I’m great,” Mat says, voice wavering on vulnerable. He thinks about kissing Tito but holds back— too sober, too emotionally mixed up to put himself out there like that. Mat bites the inside of his cheek, settling on words instead. “I have you, right?”

Tito smiles when he pulls back, nodding. “Of course. You’re my best friend. Did someone upset you? You know I can’t fight but give me an address and I’ll ship them a box of gummy dicks or something. That’ll show them.”

“No!” Mat laughs, voice softening. “No, that’s okay.” He smiles, because he doesn’t quite know how to tell Tito that he would be buying _himself_ — or, well, alternate Tito— a bunch of phallic gummies. “Just come get some dinner with me. That’ll be enough.”

“Deal,” Tito says, getting up to turn off the gaming console. “Let’s go get some steaks.”

..

Mat is full, calm and content by the time they arrive back at Tito’s apartment. So little, in reality, has changed, though his mind stays stuck on what he thought was his new reality just days prior. He thinks back to Dante’s words, thankful when Tito comes out of the kitchen with two cold beers. Wine at dinner was nice, but he’s only slightly tipsy, hoping for something more to take the edge off.

“Are you going back tonight?” Tito sits down on the couch before taking a drink from his bottle. His face doesn’t give any indication that he wants Mat to stay, though Mat doesn’t feel rushed to leave, either. It’s a simple, no-strings attached question.

Mat takes a drink, stalling. “Do you want me to?”

Tito shrugs, picking at the label on his beer bottle. Something is off.

“Hey,” Mat says quickly, wanting to get the words out before the panic sets in. It just about does when Tito’s head lifts and their eyes meet again. “I can stay. I uh, really missed you, man. I mean my birthday was—”

Mat realizes he doesn’t _actually_ know how his birthday ended.

“About that,” Tito begins, going back to nervously picking at his bottle. “We don’t have to talk about it. We were drunk.”

 _We were drunk_. The words stick. Mat doesn’t remember much beyond soft kisses and the flutter of fingertips against the back of his neck. He remembers feeling happy, life complete with Tito there, breathing softly as he slept.

“Wait did we—” It’s just another question Mat adds to the list— something else he doesn’t quite know how to ask. If Dante’s version of what happened is different— if Tito didn’t _really_ disappear— then maybe what led up to it never happened either.

“Wait, you think we had sex?” Tito turns as white as ghost.

That alone tells Mat he’s wrong. Very wrong.

“No,” Mat says, going back to his beer, drinking until he’s downed half of it.

Tito is quiet, avoiding eye-contact, finding the sticker on his bottle to be far too interesting. He tears off a small piece, clearing his throat when he finally speaks again. “We didn’t.”

“I mean,” Mat begins, wondering how the fuck things got to this point. “That’s fine. It’s not like I asked to stay so that we could hook up. You know it isn’t like that.”

It must be the wrong answer because Tito just about slams his bottle down on the table.

“Yeah,” he says, voice strained. “I _know_. God, I can’t believe you don’t—” Tito begins, stopping himself quickly. “You should probably go back. I bet the kids miss you.”

“They saw me earlier,” Mat says, setting his bottle next to Tito’s. He wants to reach out— to place his hand on Tito’s knee, comforting like he deserves, but stops himself. Tito’s trying to throw him out.

“Yeah, so did I.” Tito stands up, running a hand over his face. “Besides, I’m getting tired.”

“Oh.” Mat watches as Tito grabs the empty bottles and crosses his apartment. He stands up, stopping just before the kitchen, watching as Tito rinses the bottles in the sink. Last time he stood there, he watched as a happy, humming Tito crack a few eggs into a hot pan. “See you tomorrow?”

“Maybe.” Tito shuts off the sink and shakes his hands over it, drying them off on the sides of his pants.

It’s not the answer Mat’s looking for, but he accepts it. “Text me later, man.”

Mat sighs, figuring it best not to stir the pot. His fingertips just graze the doorknob when Tito’s voice stops him.

“You really don’t remember, do you?”

Mat doesn’t move. He remembers most of the night. It’s that small space of time in between fading in and out of sleep and waking up in the morning— when Tito’s nowhere to be seen— that’s still a confusing blur.

“I remember waking up,” Mat says, turning to face Tito who’s closer than he thought. He doesn't dare say the words— _You were gone_.

“No.” Tito shakes his head. “Before that.”

“What? The kissing stuff?” Mat tries to ignore how bringing it up makes his heart beat faster. It’s something they’ve always done— an act left unspoken. It’s one that’s never been a problem before, or so he thought.

Tito closes the gap between them, mouth hovering over Mat’s. It’s a quick, rather chaste kiss— far from the regular, alcohol-fueled kisses Mat’s grown used to. He freezes, of course, which is likely why Tito pulls away.

“Sorry,” Tito says, voice and hands shaky.

 _You left_ , Mat’s brain just about shouts, though he knows Tito wouldn’t. Not willingly, anyway. 

“Don’t go.” Mat grabs Tito by the hand, pulling him close again.

“Go?” Tito raises an eyebrow, shaking subsiding. “This is my apartment.”

This time, Mat decides to be brave. He leans in, tugging the front of Tito’s collar, lips crashing together and teeth nearly clicking when they meet. Tito makes a small sound somewhere in the back of his throat but softens the moment Mat’s palm rests against his chest.

It’s different than kissing the Tito who doesn’t play hockey— who’s hands, he noticed aren’t as rough, who’s demeanor is slightly gentler in reciprocating. Tito tugs Mat’s bottom lip between his teeth, groans when Mat’s hand rests at his hip, thumb pressing against bone. He allows the kiss be broken but immediately goes back for more, hands tangling in Mat’s hair.

“Don’t go either,” Tito whispers, forehead dropping against Mat’s.

So Mat stays.

..

It’s pitch black when Mat sits up suddenly, gasping for air and sticky with his own sweat. He feels the shift of the mattress, a sense of relief following when Tito turns on the bedside lamp.

“You’re okay,” Tito says, wrapping his arms around Mat’s shoulders. “It was just a nightmare.”

“Sorry,” Mat whispers, embarrassed for the uncontrollable outburst but thankful for Tito— for his comfort and most importantly, his presence. He’s warm, he’s shaky and he’s embarrassed, pretty sure he not only scared himself awake, but Tito as well. 

“Hey, no.” Tito tightens his hold around Mat who, full of appreciation and the sudden, unfounded need for comfort, turns his body in. Mat won’t admit it, but it’s just what he needs. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” Mat says, wrinkling his nose, wincing at the slight memory of his dream— Tito smiling, waving and then dissolving into nothing. It wasn’t real. Tito’s still there, so very real, warm and comforting as he holds Mat tight. “It’s stupid.”

“Of course it’s stupid,” Tito says, loosening his arms. “It was a nightmare. They’re always stupid. It’s like your brain takes the most irrational thoughts ever and makes them believable. It’s all bullshit, I promise.”

“You don’t even know what it was about.” Mat shifts, leaning his head against Tito’s shoulder comfortably. 

“No, but I’m here and willing to listen when you’re ready to tell me.” Tito turns his head, pressing a quick kiss to the side of Mat’s slightly damp hair. 

Mat sighs, not sure he’s ready to open up just yet. “Maybe tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow is fine,” Tito says, settling back down against the mattress. His eyes stay locked on Mat, fingers trailing down his arm. When he pats his chest, Mat knows it’s a welcoming, caring gesture. “Come on, get some sleep.”

Mat hesitates, moving slowly, head resting gently against Tito. He doesn’t think he can sleep easily— not until Tito threads his fingers in his hair, relaxing him with each gentle caress. Eyes heavy, Mat turns, face pressed into Tito’s chest. It’s the first time, he realizes, they’ve done _this_ completely sober.

Tito’s fingers still after awhile and Mat feels as if he’s floating, transitioning back and forth between the state of sleep and being awake. He can hear Tito’s breathing as it steadies and is almost certain he’s asleep until Mat, curling in to take in more of his warmth, causes Tito to resume stroking Mat’s hair.

“Are you still awake?” Tito asks, just above a whisper.

“No,” Mat mumbles, despite very clearly _not_ being asleep.

“You’re a liar,” Tito says with a soft, gentle laugh, lips firm against the top of Mat’s head.

It’s better than words, more soothing, making Mat feel safe and warm. Then Tito takes it a step further, giving Mat the reassurance he never gave any indication he needed.

“I’ll be here when you wake up. _Promise_.”

“Okay,” Mat whispers, believing him. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, head turned to listen to Tito’s heart beating against his ear.

When he opens his eyes again, it’s morning. Mat yawns, rubbing his eyes, heart dropping when he doesn’t feel Tito’s warmth against his side. He rolls over, palm sliding across the mattress, sighing with relief when his fingers stop against something solid— something warm. Tito never left.

“Morning Barzy,” Tito says sleepily. “I’d ask if you slept alright but, um, did you sleep better at least?”

“Yeah.” Mat sits up, rolling his shoulders. He’s only slightly embarrassed to have pretty much fallen apart in front of his best friend. “Just a lot of changes, you know?”

“Yeah,” Tito agrees, sitting up, blanket sliding down and pooling at his lap. “Having a new GM is… well you’ve seen him. He’s terrifying. When he says jump, you better jump. When I saw they changed my number, I walked in, picked up my gear and acted like I hadn’t even noticed.”

Mat furrows his brows. He’s been missing for so long he doesn’t even know what Tito’s new number is— doesn’t think his has changed, but doesn’t show any signs of not knowing. “You’ll still be good. We’re a team.”

“The best team.” Tito holds out his fist and Mat forms one of his own, bumping them together. It’s as if nothing’s changed.

 _Nothing’s changed_ , Mat thinks.

“What happened that night?” Mat blurts out, needing answers. His birthday, the night that changed everything, still a blur. He remembers Tito showing up, Tito toasting to his birthday, loudly kissing the side of his head and rounding up all of Mat’s friends, leading them in a very off-key version of _Happy Birthday_.

He remembers trying to coerce Tito into getting a hotel room with him, Tito being a gentleman and bringing him back home. Tito hadn’t planned on spending the night, he just _did_ , arm around Mat, steadying him when the room around him spun.

“I told you that I loved you,” Tito blurts out, eyes wide, like maybe he regrets saying it— not that it matters. It’s all out there now.

Mat opens his mouth, just as shocked. He doesn’t remember this part of the night.

“Yeah,” Tito says quickly, waving his hand dismissively. “But we were drunk and it just— Don’t worry. You didn’t say it back anyway.”

There’s something hidden behind Tito’s eyes, dark and painful that Mat can’t quite put his finger on. Had he known… 

“You love me?” Mat asks, watching Tito’s face turn slightly paler.

“Um.”

“You love me,” Mat repeats, this time sure of it. 

“Yeah, we’ve established this,” Tito says, shifting uncomfortably. “I told you and then you _left_ me there. Like… what the hell was that?”

“I didn’t leave,” Mat whispers, reaching out for Tito’s hand.

Tito yanks away and it’s obvious that there’s painful memories resurfacing. “And even though everyone keeps telling me to move on, I’m too stupid to actually do it. We keep ending up back here, like _this_ , and…”

“I _didn’t_ leave,” Mat repeats, louder, but it doesn’t matter.

Tito is already out of bed, heading towards the bathroom. “I’m taking a shower. You should probably be gone when I come back out.”

..

Practices are awkward.

Tito acknowledges him on the ice and pretends to do so off the ice as if not wanting to tip off the management that something’s off. Mat (and Tito) manage to stay in one place, or universe, for the time being, so Mat tries his best not to worry.

He still worries plenty.

Mat feels mentally and physically exhausted by the time he leaves the ice. He always pushes himself to the limit, but with them down their captain, Mat knows all eyes and expectations are on him. 

He takes a long, cold shower and when the water hits his face, hopes to hell they pick someone— anyone else— to wear the C this season, taking off the immense amount of pressure that’s weighing down on him. It’s not like he thinks he’s captain material, anyway. Not yet.

Mat turns off the water and grabs his towel, wrapping it around his waist when Tito walks in, avoiding eye contact. It stings, but Mat understands to an extent.

“Can we talk?” He asks, not expecting much in return.

“Not today,” Tito says with an exasperated sigh.

They don’t talk again until the end of the week after a team meeting leaves Tito feeling more than overwhelmed. He locks his keys in his car, forced to ride back to his apartment with Mat to retrieve his spare.

It’s a quiet drive, until Mat, borderline fed up, speaks. “You could have had someone else drive you back, you know. Since you’re still giving me the silent treatment.”

“I’m not,” Tito says, brows furrowed over sad eyes. “Besides, you’re the one ignoring me.”

“You threw me out of your apartment the morning after I had a nightmare,” Mat shoots back, voice harsh. “That’s a little fucked up. Friends don’t do that.”

“Friends don’t get drunk and make out either, Mat, but here we are.” Tito laughs bitterly, the sound of a faint sob caught in the back of his throat. “It’s fucked up.”

Mat can sense the vulnerability, understanding it all too well. He knows whoever Tito was before, soft and sweet back in that coffee shop, is gone for good. Or so he thinks, until Tito speaks again.

“I’ve been having weird dreams too.”

“Dreams?” Mat’s sure that if his ears could perk up, they would. “Like being-on-the-first-line dreams, because you’re pretty close. Watch how camp plays out.” He knows he’s playing dumb, gears in his head turning when Tito frowns, shaking his head.

“Not good ones,” Tito says, shrugging, face doing something that tells Mat he’s holding back. “ _Weird_ ones.”

“Wait.” Mat inhales. He remembers Dante telling him Tito didn’t disappear, _he_ did, wondering if there’s something Tito isn’t telling him either. When he parks the car, Mat exhales, eyes meeting Tito’s— wide, blue, _scared_. “Where did you go?”

Tito, frown forming, doesn’t look away. “Where did _you_ go?”

“I went looking for you,” Mat says, tired of holding back. He doesn’t expect Tito to understand— not when he sure as hell doesn’t. “Or so I thought. Then I found something else.”

Tito shifts in the passenger seat, eyes focused. “What did you find?”

Mat thinks, hard.

He found a version of Tito, slightly timid and less his.

He found another world.

He found himself.

“Where I belong,” Mat settles on, reaching down to grab Tito’s hand.

“Mat,” Tito says, voice low and unsure. “That’s not funny.” He pulls his hand back, shaky, unfastening his seatbelt. Just like that, Tito slips out of the car. He stands there, momentarily, holding the door open before sinking back down. “I, um. Can you let me inside of my apartment?”

Nodding, Mat turns off his car. His mind races, thoughts moving at a mile per minute. He finds it hard to settle until he’s behind closed doors, back in the apartment that holds so many memories.

Tito grabs his spare set of keys from the wall hook and turns, chewing his bottom lip. “I guess we should go back.”

Mat thinks about leaving— about taking Tito to his car but going home without him. He thinks about a world where this apartment is theirs— a world where when they go home, they go home _together_. He shakes his head and does something he knows he should have did weeks ago, the very night Tito showed up at his birthday celebration.

He takes a few steps forward, closing the gap, kissing Tito slow and meaningful, only pulling back long after Tito has melted into him.

“I love you.” Mat blurts it out, cups Tito’s face and says it again, over and over, waiting for the words to sound strange and lose their meaning— they never do. “I love you, I love you,” he keeps repeating, peppering Tito’s face with small, soft kisses, knowing he’s likely making a fool of himself, nevertheless, done caring. 

They kiss, again, and Mat can just about see the sparks when his eyes close. He sees Tito cooking invisible eggs, Tito passing him the puck, Tito making him his regular coffee order and Tito hugging him on draft day. Everything blurs together when Tito kisses him harder.

When they separate, breathless, Mat tests the waters.

“What would you do if you had to pick between me and hockey?” Mat doesn’t look at Tito when he asks, somewhat afraid of the answer. He knows how hard he’s worked to achieve his dream— how much harder Tito had to do the same.

“I’d pick you,” Tito says immediately.

Mat thinks that there has to be different scenarios with different outcomes running through Tito’s head. Nothing is that simple. Hockey is Tito’s life— he knows this because it’s his life, too. Giving up hockey, luckily— hopefully— isn’t an option, and so discussing the hypothetical seems like a no-brainer. “Every time?”

“Every time.” Tito nods, leaning in close. It’s as if he doesn’t need to think about it.

“What would you say if I told you that you _did_?” Mat bites his tongue.

Tito laughs softly, arm slipping around Mat’s waist with ease. “Is this some jab at my game?”

“What?” Mat blinks rapidly, then realizes how it sounds. “No, no. I think something happened. Something…. strange.”

“Yeah,” Tito says, watching Mat carefully. “I came out for your birthday and you just… left. But it’s okay. I know when things get kind of heavy—”

“I _didn’t_.” Mat’s frustrated, hands clenching and unclenching over and over. “Ask Dante. Ask him where I went, what I did. I went to Montreal. You were there. You were a barista for fucks sakes.”

“Okay first, calm down,” Tito says, reaching out to touch Mat’s arm. “Second, barista? Why would I sell coffee? You know I don’t even like it unless it’s in milkshake form anyway. Come on.”

“You didn’t exist.”

Tito stops for a moment, eyes slightly bigger. “Of course I exist.”

“But you didn’t,” Mat says, turning his arm to grab onto Tito’s. “I swear.”

“Okay…” Tito furrows his brows as if he’s considering this could have actually been a reality. He’s silent for a few moments and then, looking back to Mat, speaks again. “I had a dream, well, a few that you just… no one knew who you were. I remember getting upset and— what does it all mean?”

“Dante said that sometimes things happen that we can’t really explain.” Mat shifts, finding it hard to keep his eye contact. If Tito thinks he’s as crazy as he knows he’s about to sound, then Mat doesn’t want to know. “Sometimes we have to do some crazy shit to fulfil our destiny.”

“Destiny?” Tito snorts. “We’re hockey players, not samurai.”

Mat rolls his eyes, expecting as much. “I lost you, Tito. I swear.”

“But I didn’t go anywhere,” Tito says, voice soft this time. “I never have, never would. You’re… well. You’re _you_.”

“Do you believe in fate?” Mat holds his breath, taking a step closer.

“I think we were meant to be here.” Tito smiles, warm enough to melt away any of Mat’s uncertainty. “If that’s fate then yeah, I guess I do.”

“I’m glad I found you,” Mat admits, really, _truly_ meaning it.

“Okay so.” It’s Tito’s turn to step forward, nose bumping Mat’s. “Kiss me.”

When Mat does, he silently vows to never let Tito get away from him again.

 _Ever_.


	4. Chapter 4

**EPILOGUE**

Mat dreams of fall in the city, summers on the lake and everything in between. They’re happy, comforting dreams, each and every one of them featuring Tito at his side. His nightmares don’t just lessen, they disappear completely. There’s still times when he’s worried— afraid he’ll wake— yet every morning, consistently, Tito is there at his side, warm against his side. That, Mat knows, will get better with time, too.

They go into the season as a couple and Mat feels as if even though everything has shifted, it’s also fallen into place. 

Tito doesn’t keep his apartment, the both of them deciding that they’re owed something slightly bigger and away from the noise of the LIRR. They find a new apartment in Garden City that Mat knows they’re buying the second Tito walks into the kitchen, eyes lit up and arms out when he turns in circles at the room’s center. Tito doesn’t cook fake eggs, but he laughs, promising to make Mat the best salmon he’s ever tasted after they’re all moved in.

They get Christmas in Montreal, because it’s close— because Tito begs Mat to show him the so-called coffee shop he worked at in some alternate universe. Mat agrees, because he’s happy to oblige.

It’s cold, the ground covered in snow when Mat traces his steps down the familiar streets. When he reaches the coffee shop, it’s gone. No longer is the large, hanging cut out of a coffee cup over the door. It’s been replaced by some script and a photo of a stack of books.

“I swear this was it,” Mat says, pacing back and forth, walking around the side of the building as if looking for clues. He goes another block and back again, stopping at the bookstore that he knows was a coffee shop just months ago.

Then Tito convinces him to go inside.

It’s familiar from the lighting to the small seating section the the corner. It make Mat feel warm, welcome and full of memories— memories that probably never existed. The counters are gone, replaced by shelves, lined with tables piled high with books.

“I’ll ask her if she knows anything.” Tito motions towards a woman sitting behind the one sole counter.

Mat walks alongside the shelves, stopping at one that blocks what he knows used to be a beautifully painted mural. Something small and vine-like pokes out from the top left of the shelf and something within Mat lights up. He knows he’s found the right place.

When Tito comes back, he’s laughing. “Get this. I asked them if this was ever a coffee shop.”

“Yeah?” Mat lifts his head from the spot he was focused on, briefly wondering if it’s possible for the mural to fade away when he looks away.

“It was,” Tito says, touching Mat’s arm. “Four years ago.”

 _Four years_ , Mat mouths. It’s impossible. He looks back, mural still there and grabs Tito’s hand. 

“What is it?” Tito squeezes, looking at the bookshelf.

“This is where I found you.” Mat turns, pointing to the door. “Over there. But we sat over here a lot, under the mural. It was nice.”

Tito smiles. Mat knows he doesn’t understand and maybe he never will, but he’s doing his best. He presses a kiss to the side of Mat’s head, looking at the small bit of mural that Mat points out. “Flowers?”

“Yeah.” Mat stretches his arm out, moving his pointer finger along the tightly packed shelves. “It went all of the way over here. Bright, nice and just really…” Mat bites his bottom lip, stuck on the words.

“Blue?” Tito asks.

“Blue,” Mat repeats, remembering them like it was yesterday, shocked that Tito, strange to the environment, picked up on such a small detail. He looks again, hoping to see some sort of purple or blue showing that might give it away, but most is covered, save for a few bits of very obvious dark green. “How did you know?”

“It’s hard to explain,” Tito says, staring at the shelves. “I can _feel_ it.”

They stand like that, staring at nothing on the shelves for quite some time, until the woman comes over and asks if they need help finding anything. Mat squeezes Tito’s hand, smiles at the woman and shakes his head. “No, I’ve found everything I needed. Thank you though.”

When they leave the shop, back on the streets, it’s cold and dark, but Mat doesn’t notice. His heart is warm and Tito, at his side, is finally his.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Vance Joy's "Who Am I"
> 
> Feel free to follow me on twitter @ dejadejayou or titobeauvillier on tumblr!


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